


For Lack of Self-Restraint

by SheSmolSupreme



Category: Bleach
Genre: & Drabbles, Comfort Fluff, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hybrid AU, M/M, Mentioned Spanking, Multi, One-Shots, Other, Phobias, Reader-Insert, Smol People Problems Are Awful, Soifon's Stoic Version of Aftercare, role-play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-03-01 08:25:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18796624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheSmolSupreme/pseuds/SheSmolSupreme
Summary: Here’s how it works:(1)      It’s a collection of unconnected, unrelated standalone one-shots between the Reader and the characters of Bleach. Most of ‘em are original, but I love requests.(2)      There are two versions of each ‘fic. Identical, save for the differences in pronouns, anatomy, etc. Depending on whether [ M ] or [ F ] is in each title, it’s for a male or female POV.(3)      If it says [ G-N ], it means it’s gender-neutral and I didn’t have to create two alternate versions. Safe for all parties involved.(4)       Fair warning: Most are old school Bleach. I . . . sorta tuned out after the Aizen Arc BC almost ALL my favorites (the Arrancars, RIP) died.(5)      This is me returning to my home fandom after being gone for two years - so we might have a rough start, OOC moments and the likes! I can't guarantee perfection at the moment (or ever), but I AM studying back up on the storyline, characters, etc. so it won't last long.Disclaimer: In a perfect world, I would have all ownership over Bleach and the ability do anything I wanted with it. Like making all my trash-ships canon. Sadly, I’m not so lucky.





	1. Honeybee Sting  『 Soifon • [ G-N ] Reader 』

**Author's Note:**

> I confess. 
> 
> There are several characters I haven’t written for, which makes me all the more eager to try my hand at them. This does mean, however, that flaws are to be expected while I’m still learning. RIP. This makes feedback all the more valuable to me, so if anyone ever wants to chime in with some helpful tips on improving the way I write characters – ay, I welcome it with open arms.
> 
> Additional note - I won't write smut. Mainly 'cos . . . I'm female (and a lesbian), so I've got NO idea how to write smut from a male POV. And I'd like to keep things equal between us all if that's cool. ^~^ That isn't to say I won't write lime-esque material, though. ;3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Super-short. Mentions of spanking. Gender-neutral POV.

Your whimpers were impossible to quiet, no matter how hard you tried to smother them with the pillow in your arms. There was no ignoring the hot, throbbing pain scattered across your ass and upper thighs. It burned as if fire had been brought to your flesh instead of your girlfriend’s hand, and even if it didn’t so much as hold a candle to the punishment itself, it still stung like hell.

“Stop squirming,” Soifon instructed, her tone firm.

With a small, exasperated whine, you forced yourself into compliancy. The small twitches and shivers that had been racking your body stopped. Like your body was a little afraid of disobeying her itself. After tonight, it would be a long, long while before you ever decided to try your luck with Soifon’s patience again.

She perched herself on the backs of your thighs, low enough to be shy of your knees. A hand on your hip reminded you to be still, and then you could hear the cap of a bottle of lotion being popped. You almost started sinking into your sheets with relief on the spot.

The lotion was bliss from the moment it touched your skin. It was cool, drawing out the heat and ache upon contact, and the tenseness in your muscles began to fade for real. It was made better by Soifon’s palms working the cream into your skin. Her touch soothed the pain and took away some of the sting, and in place of a whimper a small, relaxed sigh fell from your lips instead.

The spanking part of these punishments was not your favorite. (Soifon never forgot that it was, indeed, meant to be a punishment. But that made the actions she considered rewards all the sweeter, really.) The aftercare, however . . . well, that had more than a few upsides. Turning your head to the side and slipping into a state of tranquility, you closed your eyes and hummed appreciatively.

“How bad does it hurt?” Soifon asked, her tone cool and almost professional.

“I won’t be sitting down for a while,” you decided, assessing your condition thoughtfully. “But there’s no need to visit the Fourth.”

Because Soifon was a little too skilled in these matters and knew just how to brush against your limits without actually crossing them. It was kinda admirable. And it saved you any embarrassing trips to the Fourth Division, where you would have to explain your situation to Unohana. Which was something you could _really_ appreciate.

Soifon hummed in satisfaction, her hands massaging your thighs. “And what have we learned from this lesson?” she inquired.

You propped yourself up on your elbows with a sigh. “No more pet names at work,” you mumbled reluctantly.

“ _Especially_ not in front of my subordinates,” she agreed sternly, kneading the plump, bruised and reddened curve of your ass. “And not when I’ve told you several times already.”

“It’s such a cute name, though,” you pouted. “You _are_ my sweet little honeybee.”


	2. First Kiss 『 Tier Harribel • [ F ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of those characters I've never written before in my life. Fingers crossed. W h e e z e.

Harribel has a fixation with your mouth. It isn’t something she can help. She loves watching your lips whenever you speak, she loves the sight of a smile dancing across them. She loves when you kiss her, be it on her forehead, her cheek, her hair, or those mornings where she wakes up and you’re lavishing her shoulders and collar with your tongue, teeth, and those soft, pink lips she adores so much. And that’s not to mention all the other dexterous things you’re capable of doing with your mouth.

What’s frustrating is that she’s incapable of reciprocating. Her mask makes it impossible, unless she’d like to tear a good chunk of your flesh away in the process. (Dear as you are to her, she has no such desire. She can’t imagine hurting you. She _still_ feels a shred of guilt for the one time she let her reiatsu flare a little too wildly in your presence and you, a Número, had been so overwhelmed and crushed by the force of it that you were ill for days after.)

She settles for the little things in lieu of all that can be done with a mouth. Touching her forehead to yours or running her fingertips along your skin, or wrapping her arms around you while you’re asleep beside her. Loving looks, gentle caresses, short but sweet sessions of cuddling.

It takes her a few months to settle on a solution. It’s a brief one, but it’s not a chance she can imagine passing up.

When she takes you away from Las Noches to the monochromatic, uninhabited sand-filled plains above Hueco Mundo, the emptier, lonelier extension of an already empty, lonely world, you look around and smile. “I’ve never been up here before,” you muse, then look back at her with a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “It’s a strange place for a date. A lot quieter than Las Noches, though, I’ll admit.”

When she releases the seal on her Zanpakutou and faces you as herself, in her unbound form, you are speechless for a time. You stare at her with wide eyes and parted lips, and she has to wonder for a moment if she’s hurting you again. Her reiatsu is immense, and you’re too frail to handle the full brunt of it. She has a tight leash on it, but it’s possible that might not be enough.

She’s reassured when you start to smile. Even more so when you duck your head with a flush dusting across your cheeks. A shy smile graces your lips. “I’ve never seen your Resurrección before,” you tell her sheepishly. “You look beautiful, Harribel. Though . . . it _does_ show a lot of skin. Do the others see you like this often?”

Harribel feels a twinge of amusement at the comment. Then she shakes her head and crosses the space between you and herself in a couple of strides. She has an arm circling around your waist not even a second later, palm pressing against the small of your back so she can draw your body flush against hers. Your blush deepens as you stare up at her, and she gives herself a short moment to admire how endearing you look before she dips down and closes the space the separates your lips and hers.

She’s never kissed anyone before. Even if she had ever had another lover before you, even if she had ever even wanted to before meeting you, her mask would’ve prevented it. In her released state, however, it isn’t an obstacle any longer, and she _savors_ the feeling of warm lips against her own for the first time.

It’s strange and it’s new, but _nothing_ about it is unpleasant. Not when your fingers tangle in her hair and you tilt her head to the side with a slight sigh of bliss. Her fingertips trace up and down the length of your spine, and she feels your body shiver against hers in response. It only prompts her to hold you tighter.

No, she hasn’t kissed anyone before you, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand the ins and outs. She knows how to stroke her tongue against your lower lip to draw a moan from you, and she knows how to brush up against yours so that she can actually _taste_ you, and she knows that grazing her teeth against your lip afterwards is enough to earn a delicate, delicious whimper.

Everything that makes kissing good, she decides, is the way you react. Your shivers, your sighs, the way your breathing becomes a little ragged because you would much rather go without oxygen instead of break away (a feeling she shares), and the way your fingers tighten their grip in her hair with want.

Harribel feels lightheaded when she withdraws. Not for lack of oxygen, but for how absolutely overwhelmed she is by her own raw affection for you. It’s only intensified by the way your eyes slowly flutter open, the way you peek up at her through your lashes, your face flushed pink and your lips full and red. You look as dizzy as she feels, and her heart swells with adoration for the sight. She wants to kiss you again. It’s an urge that comes unbidden and instinctively, and it takes all her restraint to stop herself from acting on it.

Slowly, you work your fingers from her hair, resting your hands against the armor on her shoulders instead. You take a few seconds to recompose yourself, then you’re looking down at the sand with a small, pleased smile.

“We’ve been together for so long now and we’re only _just_ having our first kiss?” you comment with a soft, shy laugh.

Harribel can’t help herself from nuzzling your hair. There’s _another_ thing she can’t do with her mask. It tends to scrape against you unpleasantly, but now it’s gone and all you feel is the warm press of her lips on top of your head.

“It was overdue,” she murmurs, reaching up to brush her fingers through a lock of your hair.

You laugh again. “It was,” you agree with a nod.

When she looks down at you again, you’re gazing up at her with another smile. “Would it be too soon to ask for another?” you ask hopefully.

Harribel doesn’t hesitate for a second. She’s more than happy to capture your mouth against hers and wrap you up in her arms all over again. 


	3. First Kiss 『 Tier Harribel • [ M ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of those characters I've never written before in my life. Fingers crossed. W h e e z e. 
> 
> (Also, fun fact. First reader-insert I've EVER written from a male POV. Here's to many more.)

Harribel has a fixation with your mouth. It isn’t something she can help. She loves watching your lips whenever you speak, she loves the sight of a smile dancing across them. She loves when you kiss her, be it on her forehead, her cheek, her hair, or those mornings where she wakes up and you’re lavishing her shoulders and collar with your tongue, teeth, and those soft, pink lips she adores so much. And that’s not to mention all the other dexterous things you’re capable of doing with your mouth.

What’s frustrating is that she’s incapable of reciprocating. Her mask makes it impossible, unless she’d like to tear a good chunk of your flesh away in the process. (Dear as you are to her, she has no such desire. She can’t imagine hurting you. She _still_ feels a shred of guilt for the one time she let her reiatsu flare a little too wildly in your presence and you, a Número, had been so overwhelmed and crushed by the force of it that you were ill for days after.)

She settles for the little things in lieu of all that can be done with a mouth. Touching her forehead to yours or running her fingertips along your skin, or wrapping her arms around you while you’re asleep beside her. Loving looks, gentle caresses, short but sweet sessions of cuddling.

It takes her a few months to settle on a solution. It’s a brief one, but it’s not a chance she can imagine passing up.

When she takes you away from Las Noches to the monochromatic, uninhabited sand-filled plains above Hueco Mundo, the emptier, lonelier extension of an already empty, lonely world, you look around and smile. “I’ve never been up here before,” you muse, then look back at her with a flicker of amusement in your eyes. “It’s a strange place for a date. A lot quieter than Las Noches, though, I’ll admit.”

When she releases the seal on her Zanpakutou and faces you as herself, in her unbound form, you are speechless for a time. You stare at her with wide eyes and parted lips, and she has to wonder for a moment if she’s hurting you again. Her reiatsu is immense, and you’re too frail to handle the full brunt of it. She has a tight leash on it, but it’s possible that might not be enough.

She’s reassured when you start to smile. Even more so when you duck your head with a flush dusting across your cheeks. A shy smile graces your lips. “I’ve never seen your Resurrección before,” you tell her sheepishly. “You look beautiful, Harribel. Though . . . it _does_ show a lot of skin. Do the others see you like this often?”

Harribel feels a twinge of amusement at the comment. Then she shakes her head and crosses the space between you and herself in a couple of strides. She has a hand circling your bicep not even a second later, using it to pull you close enough that she can feel the warmth of your body. Your blush deepens as you stare down at her, and she gives herself a short moment to admire how endearing you look before she stretches up onto her toes and closes the space that separates your lips and hers.

She’s never kissed anyone before. Even if she had ever had another lover before you, even if she had ever even wanted to before meeting you, her mask would’ve prevented it. In her released state, however, it isn’t an obstacle any longer, and she _savors_ the feeling of warm lips against her own for the first time.

It’s strange and it’s new, but _nothing_ about it is unpleasant. Not when your arms wind around her waist and you tilt your head to the side with a slight sigh of bliss. Her hand lets go of your arm, reaching up to curl in your hair instead, and she feels your body shiver against hers when she tugs lightly. It only prompts her to press her body against yours a little more closely.

No, she hasn’t kissed anyone before you, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand the ins and outs. She knows how to stroke her tongue against your lower lip to draw a moan from you, and she knows how to brush up against yours so that she can actually _taste_ you, and she knows that grazing her teeth against your lip afterwards is enough to earn a

Everything that makes kissing good, she decides, is the way you react. Your shivers, your sighs, the way your breathing becomes a little ragged because you would much rather go without oxygen instead of break away (a feeling she shares), and the way your hands find her hips and grip onto her tight with want.

Harribel feels lightheaded when she withdraws. Not for lack of oxygen, but for how absolutely overwhelmed she is by her own raw affection for you. It’s only intensified by the way your eyes slowly flutter open, the way you gaze down at her from beneath the shadows of your lashes, your face flushed pink and your lips full and red. You look as dizzy as she feels, and her heart swells with adoration for the sight. She wants to kiss you again. It’s an urge that comes unbidden and instinctively, and it takes all her restraint to stop herself from acting on it.

Slowly, your grasp on her hips loosens until it's not so bruising, more of a gentle caress. You take a few seconds to recompose yourself, then you’re looking down at the sand with a small, pleased smile.

“We’ve been together for so long now and we’re only _just_ having our first kiss?” you comment with a soft, shy laugh.

Harribel can't help herself from nuzzling the side of your neck. There's another thing she can't do with her mask. It tends to scrape against you unpleasantly, but now it's gone and all you feel is the warm press of her lips on your skin.

“It was overdue,” she murmurs, brushing her fingers through a lock of your hair.

You laugh again. “It was,” you agree with a nod.

When she looks up at you again, you’re gazing down at her with another smile. “Would it be too soon to ask for another?” you ask hopefully.

Harribel doesn’t hesitate for a second. She’s more than happy to capture your mouth against hers and be wrapped up in your arms all over again.


	4. Role-Play 『 Rangiku Matsumoto • [ F ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW-ish?

You had to admit it. Rangiku looked downright _stunning_ in a Captain’s haori. It was a bit of a tight fit seeing as Captain Hitsugaya was much smaller than her, but the way it hugged each curve made her look all the more mouthwatering in your opinion. Even if she was glaring at you. No, _especially_ when she was glaring at you.

“Really, [Y/N]!” she sighed in exasperation, crossing her arms across her bountiful breasts.

It was a struggle to push away your thoughts of admiration – and an even tougher one to tear your eyes from her cleavage – but you forced them aside and stood up straight in front of the desk. You did your best to look serious. Even a little dejected since you were a lieutenant that was in trouble with her captain and should not be smiling. Even if you wanted to. “I’m so sorry, Captain,” you apologized, looking down at the floor.

“You were given _one_ job!” she reminded you sternly, and you lifted your gaze again just in time to see a pout cross her perfect, full lips. “Such a lazy lieutenant you are. What am I supposed to do with you?”

Her scolding was a little less intimidating with the amount of amusement dancing in her eyes, and it made it all the harder to hide your own entertainment. Against your wishes, the corners of your mouth twitched upwards. “Forgive me?” you suggested to her. “I won’t _ever_ do it again, Captain.”

“Oh? That’s believable,” she huffed, lifting her chin and turning away from you. “Really, I should punish you for being such a lousy lieutenant!”

She couldn’t scowl. She tried and you could tell that she was putting a great deal of effort into it, but there was still a hint of a smile on her lips. But you figured you weren’t doing the best job looking crestfallen yourself, so you didn’t comment. Besides, improvising means the script isn’t set in stone.

You walked around the desk, situating yourself in the small space between her and the furniture. Then you leaned down, wrapping your arms around her neck and smothering her with your breasts. “But _Captaaaain!”_ you whined in your best mimicry of Rangiku’s voice.

She gave a muffled laugh into your chest, her hands settling on her hips to push you back just enough for her to be able to breathe. Her eyes glittered with laughter even when she schooled her face into a more thoughtful expression. A devious sort of thoughtful, though. Like Yachiru before raiding the buffet table at an event and making off with all the sweets. Or Kyoraku plotting how to sneak a peek into the women’s hot springs.

“Well . . . ” she began.

You gave an inquisitive hum, offering her a hopeful smile. “Yes, Captain~?”

“Maybe if you can show me how good a lieutenant you _can_ be and make it up to me, I’ll consider letting you off the hook,” she said, slipping out of character to give you a suggestive smile that showed how lecherous a woman she could really be.

You feigned a gasp. “Are you abusing your power, Rangiku?” you scolded.

“That’s _Captain Matsumoto_ to you,” she retorted.

You couldn’t keep it in any longer after that. You tossed your head back and howled with laughter until your sides hurt. Your lover did the same, trying to muffle herself against your chest and failing _miserably._ By the time you both managed to recompose yourselves and stop cackling, tears had sprung to your eyes. The two of you shared a grin, eyes bright with delight and amusement on both sides.

When you finally remembered the game, you cleared your throat and recalled your role. You didn’t bother trying to hide your smile anymore, though. It would’ve been impossible. “Well, Captain,” you began, skimming your knuckles along the side of her neck. “What would you have me do, then?”

Rangiku’s fingers slipped down to her waist, tugging at the ties of her white belt like she was teasing you. Which she very, very much was. She peered up at you through her lashes, and she looked so seductive in that moment that you want nothing more than to pounce on her. When she teases, she’s merciless. It was so hard to keep your hands to yourself knowing that, to not tear into her uniform until you had her naked for your personal appreciation. You occupied yourself with running your fingers through her strawberry-blonde hair instead, keeping your eyes on hers like it would do you _any_ good.

“How should I make it up to you, Captain?” you purred. “I’ll do _anything_ you ask of me.”

One of your hands slid from her hair, fingertips dusting down the side of her neck, then tracing the length of her collarbone. Just until you could push one half of her uniform off of her shoulder and watch it pool at her elbow. It earned you even more of her bust to admire, which, in turn, had your mouth going dry.

You wanted her _so_ bad. Could feel heat flaring to life beneath your skin in anticipation of all that’s to come.

Rangiku tilted her head to the side, lips curling into a sultry smile. “I shouldn’t have to ask,” she replied in a tone that’s all silk and seduction. “A good lieutenant should know her captain’s orders before they’re even given. But you’re a _terrible_ lieutenant, aren’t you?”

Your smile turned into a smirk at the blatant challenge. Your fingers hooked under the thin chain around her neck absently, gaze trailing over her chest, her neck, then her face. “Am I? I suppose I’ll have to prove you wrong about that, won’t I?” you purred, catching her eyes.

“If you can,” she countered playfully.

She gave a final tug and the tie of her belt came undone, leaving the thing loose and yours to tear away. All you could think was that you were _so_ glad that you had confessed this particular fantasy to her, that she had agreed to fulfill it for you. And all you wanted was to sink to your knees, tear her hakama apart, and make her _writhe._ You felt dizzy with lust at the thought of all the things you wanted to do to her, of all the things you wanted _her_ to do to _you,_ but before you could even get to your knees –

You didn’t hear the door open, distracted as you were. Captain Hitsugaya’s voice, however, cut through the moment as coldly as if he’d dumped a bucket of freezing water over you both.  “A word of advice. A good lieutenant should _also_ know to take care of her duties when asked. Not shirk them in favor of drinking the afternoon away, and certainly not invite even _worse_ distractions into her captain’s office. Nor should she be _stealing her captain’s haori._ Unless she’d like to be replaced, that is.”

“C-Captain!” the two of you screeched in mortified unison.


	5. Role-Play 『 Rangiku Matsumoto • [ M ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW-ish?

You had to admit it. Rangiku looked downright _stunning_ in a Captain’s haori. It was a bit of a tight fit seeing as Captain Hitsugaya was much smaller than her, but the way it hugged each curve made her look all the more mouthwatering in your opinion. Even if she was glaring at you. No, _especially_ when she was glaring at you.

“Really, [Y/N]!” she sighed in exasperation, crossing her arms across her bountiful breasts.

It was a struggle to push away your thoughts of admiration – and an even tougher one to tear your eyes from her cleavage – but you forced them aside and stood up straight in front of the desk. You did your best to look serious. Even a little dejected since you were a lieutenant that was in trouble with his captain and should not be smiling. Even if you wanted to. “I’m so sorry, Captain,” you apologized, looking down at the floor.

“You were given _one_ job!” she reminded you sternly, and you lifted your gaze again just in time to see a pout cross her perfect, full lips. “Such a lazy lieutenant you are. What am I supposed to do with you?”

Her scolding was a little less intimidating with the amount of amusement dancing in her eyes, and it made it all the harder to hide your own entertainment. Against your wishes, the corners of your mouth twitched upwards. “Forgive me?” you suggested to her. “I won’t _ever_ do it again, Captain.”

“Oh? That’s believable,” she huffed, lifting her chin and turning away from you. “Really, I should punish you for being such a lousy lieutenant!”

She couldn’t scowl. She tried and you could tell that she was putting a great deal of effort into it, but there was still a hint of a smile on her lips. But you figured you weren’t doing the best job looking crestfallen yourself, so you didn’t comment. Besides, improvising means the script isn’t set in stone.

You walked around the desk, situating yourself in the small space between her and the furniture. Then you leaned down, wrapping your arms around her neck and smothering her with your chest. “But _Captaaaain!”_ you whined in your best mimicry of Rangiku’s voice.

You might not have had the suffocating bust Rangiku possessed, but it still earned a reaction from her anyways. She gave a muffled laugh into your chest, her hands settling on her hips to push you back just enough for her to be able to look up at you. Her eyes glittered with laughter even when she schooled her face into a more thoughtful expression. A devious sort of thoughtful, though. Like Yachiru before raiding the buffet table at an event and making off with all the sweets. Or Kyoraku plotting how to sneak a peek into the women’s hot springs.

“Well . . . ” she began.

You gave an inquisitive hum, offering her a hopeful smile. “Yes, Captain~?”

“Maybe if you can show me how good a lieutenant you _can_ be and make it up to me, I’ll consider letting you off the hook,” she said, slipping out of character to give you a suggestive smile that showed how lecherous a woman she could really be.

You feigned a gasp. “Are you abusing your power, Rangiku?” you scolded.

“That’s _Captain Matsumoto_ to you,” she retorted.

You couldn’t keep it in any longer after that. You tossed your head back and howled with laughter until your sides hurt. Your lover did the same, trying to muffle herself against your chest and failing _miserably._ By the time you both managed to recompose yourselves and stop cackling, tears had sprung to your eyes. The two of you shared a grin, eyes bright with delight and amusement on both sides.

When you finally remembered the game, you cleared your throat and recalled your role. You didn’t bother trying to hide your smile anymore, though. It would’ve been impossible. “Well, Captain,” you began, skimming your knuckles along the side of her neck. “What would you have me do, then?”

Rangiku’s fingers slipped down to her waist, tugging at the ties of her white belt like she was teasing you. Which she very, very much was. She peered up at you through her lashes, and she looked so seductive in that moment that you want nothing more than to pounce on her. When she teases, she’s merciless. It was so hard to keep your hands to yourself knowing that, to not tear into her uniform until you had her naked for your personal appreciation. You occupied yourself with running your fingers through her strawberry-blonde hair instead, keeping your eyes on hers like it would do you _any_ good.

“How should I make it up to you, Captain?” you purred. “I’ll do _anything_ you ask of me.”

One of your hands slid from her hair, fingertips dusting down the side of her neck, then tracing the length of her collarbone. Just until you could push one half of her uniform off of her shoulder and watch it pool at her elbow. It earned you even more of her bust to admire, which, in turn, had your mouth going dry.

You wanted her _so_ bad. Could feel heat flaring to life beneath your skin in anticipation of all that’s to come.

Rangiku tilted her head to the side, lips curling into a sultry smile. “I shouldn’t have to ask,” she replied in a tone that’s all silk and seduction. “A good lieutenant should know his captain’s orders before they’re even given. But you’re a _terrible_ lieutenant, aren’t you?”

Your smile turned into a smirk at the blatant challenge. Your fingers hooked under the thin chain around her neck absently, gaze trailing over her chest, her neck, then her face. “Am I? I suppose I’ll have to prove you wrong about that, won’t I?” you purred, catching her eyes.

“If you can,” she countered playfully.

She gave a final tug and the tie of her belt came undone, leaving the thing loose and yours to tear away. All you could think was that you were _so_ glad that you had confessed this particular fantasy to her, that she had agreed to fulfill it for you. And all you wanted was to sink to your knees, tear her hakama apart, and make her _writhe._ You felt dizzy with lust at the thought of all the things you wanted to do to her, of all the things you wanted _her_ to do to _you,_ but before you could even get to your knees –

You didn’t hear the door open, distracted as you were. Captain Hitsugaya’s voice, however, cut through the moment as coldly as if he’d dumped a bucket of freezing water over you both.  “A word of advice. A good lieutenant should _also_ know to take care of her duties when asked. Not shirk them in favor of drinking the afternoon away, and certainly not invite even _worse_ distractions into her captain’s office. Nor should she be _stealing her captain’s haori._ Unless she’d like to be replaced, that is.”

“C-Captain!” the two of you screeched in mortified unison.


	6. Worth It 『 Grimmjow Jaegerjaques • [ G-N ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hybrid AU! This meaning . . . Grimmjow, but with ears, a tail, and a few other feline features. And acting even more like a cat than he already does. (I mean . . . the whole “King” thing. Aren’t cats a little known for thinking they’re royalty?)
> 
> (I realize I was missing the last couple of sentences in this - sorry! My bad while copying it! I fixed it, but I promise you missed, like, nothing.)

“Okay,” you began, turning around to lean against your apartment door. You took a deep breath, then fixed Ichigo with the most intense, serious stare you were capable of. “You have to promise me that when you see him, you won’t freak.”

Puzzlement crossed Ichigo’s face. He blinked. “What do you mean? Why would I freak?”

You pursed your lips, unwilling to explain aloud. You shook your head and stepped aside, hand on the doorknob. “Never mind. You’ll get it when you see him,” you muttered.

And with that, you opened the door and let Ichigo peek inside from over your shoulder.

Grimmjow was the first thing that both of you saw. There was no way Ichigo could miss him. Your newly acquired hybrid was sprawled across your sofa on the other side of the room, stretched out on his side with his head propped up under one hand. His ears twitched when the door opened, and in a split second his teal-blue eyes had turned from the TV to zero in on you and Ichigo instead.

He was not your standard cat. A lot of things gave it away if you paid close enough attention, and you knew that Ichigo was far too observant to miss those details. Like how the ears atop his head, nestled in thick cerulean-blue hair, were rounded instead of pointed. Or how his physique was not the delicate, slender build that was the most common among housecat hybrids. He had all the lean, rippling muscle of a hunter, and a sharp, calculating predator’s gaze to match.

Fact of the matter was – he wasn’t a domesticated, mundane housecat. He was a panther.

Most people didn’t notice this at a first glance. You knew because you had shown pictures of him around to some of your more vague acquaintances to see if anyone might realize he wasn’t normal. Not a single one of them had been able to detect the traits that marked him as a _big cat_ instead of some tame, house-trained feline.

Ichigo noticed.

Before you could even step into your apartment, a hand was on your wrist and dragging you back out into the hall. His other hand shut the door firmly, and then Ichigo was standing before you, gazing down at you with wide, incredulous eyes.

“That is _not_ a normal cat!” he accused in an alarmed hiss. “He’s _huge!”_

“Hey, I told you not to freak out!” you chastised.

“What the _hell,_ [Y/N]?!” he went on, half-hysterical with disbelief. “What are you doing with something like that?”

“Don’t call him a thing!” you snapped. “That’s rude!”

It was at that moment that your door opened with a faint _creaaaak,_ stopping Ichigo short before he could make another remark. Both of you froze, still as statues. You turned your gaze to Grimmjow, who was large enough to fill the entire doorframe with his bulk. Silhouetted in black against the lights of your living room, his bright-blue eyes the only thing standing out in the shadows across his face, he struck an imposing figure.

Used to it at this point, you relaxed and gave him a bright smile. “Hey, kitty cat,” you said cheerily.

His eyes ran over you slowly, disinterested. When he looked at Ichigo, however, his gaze hardened with hostility. The corners of his mouth twitched, like he was debating whether or not to bare his fangs and chase Ichigo off. He wasn’t too fond of strangers. You had learned this early-on, after your neighbor had come over to borrow some sugar from you. Grimmjow had glared daggers at him until the poor man finally scurried out of your apartment with his tail between his legs.

Before you could even open your mouth to plead with him to _not_ do anything irrational or violent, he seemingly dropped all interest in Ichigo. His gaze turned back to you, much less murderous-looking. “What the hell are you doing standing out here?” he huffed.

His voice was a low, gravelly growl – a far cry from the pleasant chirping tones that housecats spoke in. From the corner of your eye, you saw Ichigo giving you a look. One that read a little something like, _Are you freaking kidding me?!_

* * *

 “Alright, he isn’t a domestic cat,” you confessed, shoulders slumping and head hanging. “He’s a panther.”

Across the table, Ichigo gave you a look that was somewhere between _you don’t say_ and _no shit._ Then he dragged a hand through his hair and sighed, heavy and exasperated. When he looked at you again, his gaze was much more serious.

“A panther,” he repeated. “[Y/N], are you even allowed to have him? Shouldn’t you have, like, a permit or something to own a hybrid like that?”

“A really, _really_ expensive permit. It’s not like I didn’t look into it, Ichigo. Even if I _did_ have enough money to afford it, I still wouldn’t stand up to the vetting process,” you mumbled glumly, looking down at the table. “They would discount me in an instant on account of my apartment being too small and my income too low. I’m nowhere near qualified to own something that exotic. Then they would take him and do who knows _what_ with him. Stick him in some reservation or shelter or ship him overseas. Even worse, they might give him back to his owner.”

“Great,” Ichigo groaned. “He’s got an owner, too. Are you _trying_ to see how many laws you can break in one go?”

“He’s a _bad_ owner!” you insisted in defense of yourself. “He’s, like, some psycho collector that hoards all sorts of hybrids. Things like – like foxes, wolves, sharks, and bats, Ichigo!”

At that, Ichigo lifted a brow. “That’s . . . kinda pretentious,” he muttered, scratching his jaw. “But that doesn’t change anything, [Y/N]. It’s bad enough that you’re keeping him when he isn’t yours, but you could get into all _sorts_ of trouble for harboring an exotic animal illegally.”

You pursed your lips, looking away from Ichigo’s gaze guiltily. It wasn’t fair of him to preach responsibility to you like he had a right (you could name only a million poor choices _he’s_ made before), but he had a point. A lot of points. Forget _fines._ Unregistered possession of a hybrid, possession of another person’s hybrid (and therefore their property), housing an exotic hybrid without a permit and no qualifications . . . You could easily be looking at a few years of imprisonment.

But . . .

Your eyes drifted down to Grimmjow. He had opted to sit on the floor, leaning against your leg since it was a much better position for running your fingers through his hair. You had been scratching around his ears and the base of his scalp throughout the entire conversation in an effort to keep him tame. If it wasn’t for Ichigo – who he was glaring at with murderous intent – he would’ve been melting against you and purring in bliss. As it was, he was a little too hung up on the presence of a total stranger in his territory to appreciate your touches.

Especially when said stranger was attempting to talk you into getting rid of him, you figured. Grimmjow’s gaze had become more and more dangerous with each word out of Ichigo’s mouth.

You couldn’t get rid of him. You couldn’t return him or hand him over to the government, and you couldn’t set him loose, either.

His old owner was a nightmare. Treated him more like a possession than a pet or companion.

The government could organize a shelter for him, but shelters didn’t include loving owners that would give him all the attention and affection he’d been deprived of. And the odds of him getting adopted were slim since the government criteria for owning such an exotic pet was near-impossible to fulfill.

Leaving him on the streets meant leaving him homeless, alone, and vulnerable to anyone that might wish him harm or want to make a profit off him, like smugglers and traffickers.

You were his best option.

You straightened your shoulders and lifted your chin. “I’m not giving up so easily,” you stated firmly, determined to stick to your guns. “His old owner doesn’t deserve him, and I’m not letting some unappreciative agency take him from me, either. He deserves some good for once and I fully intend to give it to him. He’s worth the risk.”

“[Y/N], his owner – ”

“Was an asshole,” you interrupted, tone clipped. “An asshole collector that hoarded all he could and used them for _fighting,_ Ichigo _._ Which is just as illegal as not having a permit. If not _more_ illegal.”

Next to you, Grimmjow growled low in his throat. He was agreeing with you. You had been through several conversations where he had vehemently explained how twisted this Sosuke Aizen was, how much he _hated_ the man. Honestly, there was some part of you that didn’t want to return Grimmjow on account of the slight concern that he might eventually try to murder the man.

Ichigo stared at you long and hard, then sighed. He slumped back in his chair as his resolve crumbled in the face of your determination. “You made your mind up on this the moment you found him, didn’t you?” he guessed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Which means it’s too late to talk you down by now . . . ”

“Right,” you said, tone softening. “Besides, I like having him here. It’s a lot better than living alone.”

A small smile gracing your lips, you reached down to rub the tip of one rounded ear between your thumb and index fingers. Grimmjow didn’t purr, but he did hum his appreciation.

Ichigo leaned to the side, looking around the edge of the table at Grimmjow. He lifted a dubious brow, still skeptical. “He looks kinda . . . mean, though.”

At that, Grimmjow scoffed contemptuously and deigned to offer his first actual input to the conversation. “And your hair looks dumb as hell, but I was trying not to say anything.”

Ichigo gave him a withering scowl, and you managed a dry, nervous laugh.

“He can be a little, uhm, temperamental,” you agreed, looking away sheepishly. “But he’s really sweet once you get to know him. Aren’t you, Grimm?”

You gave the panther an affectionate scratch beneath the chin. It didn’t do anything to stop him from glaring back at Ichigo.

“Yeah,” Ichigo snorted. “So sweet.”

You sighed, pouting down at Grimmjow. “Come on . . . There’s no reason for you to be so hostile. He’s my friend, and he’s around here a lot so you might as well learn to get used to him,” you chastised gently. “Be a little nicer, won’t you?”

Grimmjow didn’t acknowledge you for several long seconds. Then, with a huff, he leaned his head back against your thigh and stopped scowling. Instead, he lifted his chin to give your hand a nudge, reminding you to pet him. You did as asked, and he closed his eyes and relaxed into it with a soft, appreciative sigh.

You gave Ichigo a victorious smile. “See? He can be sweet!”

“Uh-huh . . . Sure, [Y/N].”

* * *

 “Be safe going home, alright?” you advised Ichigo, opening the front door for him. “I didn’t realize I kept you over for so long.”

He stepped past you, out into the hall. “It’s fine,” he assured you, then paused. He glanced over your shoulder, to where Grimmjow was now sprawled on your couch and dozing. “I gotta ask you one more thing before I go.”

“Is it about him?” you sighed, folding your arms and leaning against the doorframe.

“You said he’s a panther,” Ichigo began, voice hushed like he didn’t want Grimmjow to overhear. “Hybrids like that . . . you know they can’t _really_ be domesticated, right? He’s still got instincts. He’s still wild. He could hurt you if you aren’t careful.”

The corners of your mouth twitched. You could feel a giggle building up inside of your chest, and it wasn’t easy to smother it down. Ichigo still managed to pick up on your amusement regardless, though. When he scowled at you for it, you stopped repressing your grin.

“Hey! Don’t look at me like that,” he scolded you. “I’m actually _concerned_ for you, [Y/N]!”

“I’m sorry,” you giggled. “It’s a funny idea, that’s all. I’ve had him for almost two months now, Ichigo. If he was going to hurt me, he would’ve done it a long, _long_ time ago. I know you think he’s all big and bad, but, really. I’ve been working on him for a while now. You should see him when we’re alone together. He’s just a big, moody pussycat that wants to be pet, loved on, and given attention.”

Ichigo harrumphed at that. “Look, just be careful with him, alright?” he said sternly. “I promise I won’t tell anyone about him, but you have to promise me you’ll stay on your toes.”

You smiled. “Yeah, alright,” you conceded, if only to get him to stop griping. “Now, go home. I bet your dad’s wondering what’s holding you up, and I do _not_ need another bout of Isshin’s antics.”

You had only _just_ convinced him that Ichigo wasn’t your type after the last time Ichigo had stayed over at your apartment late. He had pestered you for weeks with wiggling brows and demands to know whether or not you and Ichigo were _“intimately involved.”_

Ichigo grimaced as he recalled it too. “Good point,” he said, turning away. “I’ll see you tomorrow, [Y/N].”

“Bye, Ichigo!” you called after him cheerily.

You closed the door once he vanished from sight, then turned around to face the panther lounging on your couch. Now that Ichigo was gone, he dropped the façade of sleep and opened one azure eye to gaze back at you.

“You could’ve been nicer to Ichigo,” you told him, crossing the room to run your fingers through his hair.

“I didn’t like the look of him,” he huffed with a flick of his tail.

“You don’t like the look of _anyone,_ ” you laughed, reaching down to flick the tip of his nose.

He caught your arm before you could do it, turning it so that he could nuzzle the inside of your wrist. “Not true,” he disagreed, sharp teeth grazing against your skin as he spoke.

His eyes caught yours from underneath his lashes, his gaze lazy and indolent and somehow still so intense. It was the predator in him, you supposed. He always looked like he was sizing you up, like you were prey and he was calculating the most efficient way to corner and capture you.

Sometimes it sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t quite explain or justify.

Grimmjow’s tongue rasped over your wrist playfully, rough and accompanied by a brush of sharp fangs. Then he released your arm and lounged back against the couch again. Ignoring the slight heat in your cheeks, you rubbed one of his ears between your fingers and continued past the couch.

“Make sure you turn out the lights in here whenever you’re ready to come to bed,” you reminded him over your shoulder.

Inside your own room, you went through your nightly rituals and settled down to sleep. It was only a few minutes after you made yourself comfortable in bed that Grimmjow prowled into your room. He slid under your covers, stretched, yawned, then curled onto his side right next to you. Just like he had taken to doing each night for the past few weeks.

Ichigo was being ridiculous if he thought that Grimmjow might _really_ be dangerous. Maybe once upon a time, in less-loving hands. As long as you kept your tone soft and your touches gentle, however, he was more than happy to relax and let himself bask in the affection you provided. Even if he wasn’t a true housecat, he seemed content to live like one.

A smile dancing across your lips, you rolled over onto your side to face him. He nuzzled into your chest and allowed you to brush your fingers through his hair, over his ears, down his neck and over his shoulders. All the places that put him most at ease. It took seconds for you to coax him into purring once again, and the sound was so soothing that it lulled you to sleep shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I started writing, like, three more follow-ups to this and they're all pretty NSFW AF. He's the best kitty. I live for him.


	7. Gossip 『 Kenpachi Zaraki • [ F ] Reader 』

The whole of the Fourth Division becomes suspicious when Captain Kenpachi Zaraki arrives in the morning complaining about a broken wrist. That is, more suspicious than they’ve been for the past several weeks. He’s been visiting the Fourth more and more often with the sort of injuries that he would usually consider trivial. It’s hard enough to get the man to accept medical attention even when he’s gotten out of a fight that’s left him half-dead, rare as the occurrence is. The idea that he would _willingly_ seek medical aid for something as small to him as a broken wrist is laughable.

Or it would’ve been, before this all started. Something’s up. They can feel it in the air.

What adds to their suspicion is that he’s _always_ demanding the same healer. The Fourth has tested this theory several times over, assigning him a different medic each time only to see him chase them off with ferocious glares or a stubbornly uncooperative attitude. It isn’t until they fetch the officer he prefers that he becomes compliant. 

It’s always [Y/N]. She’s an excellent healer, a seated officer, and overall a good person, but . . . What makes her of interest to Captain Zaraki is still unclear. But gossip is the lifeblood of the Fourth Division, one of few things that help them all survive through double and sometimes even triple shifts, so, of course, half of the division happily sets their minds to solving this particular puzzle.

It’s a bit of a miracle that you don’t realize almost two dozen members of the Fourth are peering into the examination room where you’re tending to Captain Zaraki that morning. Especially when the lot of them keep whispering to and shushing each other, and fighting for a good view through the small space between the door and doorframe.

“How did you manage this one?” you ask conversationally, fingers gently running over the small, out-of-place bump in Kenpachi’s right wrist.

“Madarame and Ayasegawa,” he replies simply. “I was sparring with them.”

Your lips twitch into a slight smile. Sparring in the Eleventh isn’t the same as it is in every other division. It’s much more violent and brutal. Limits are pushed, bones broken, blood spilled. It’s the reason why the Fourth is _always_ overrun with Shinigami from the Eleventh.

“Those two didn’t come along with you, did they?” you ask.

“Nah. They’ll be fine in a few days,” he assures.

You laugh, soft and warm, and Kenpachi grins. It would be a scary sight in any other scenario, since it seems like _all_ of his grins are that of an overly aggressive maniac, but when it’s directed at you it seems sort of . . . sweet. Sweet enough to have a slight dusting of pink grace your cheeks. A _blush._

This warrants much whispering from the group clustered outside. Their consensus for the situation thus far is that _maybe_ you’re crushing on Captain Zaraki. Maybe the reason that he keeps coming by the Fourth is that he has a crush, too.

But that’s . . . too bizarre an idea, so they decide that it must be lust. You _are_ awfully pretty, after all. Warm eyes, soft lips, and a body that’s all gorgeous curves beneath your uniform. Half of your own division has wondered about you that way themselves. But it’s still hard to say anything for sure, so silence falls over the onlookers while they wait to learn more.

“It’s not all that nasty a break. In fact, it doesn’t really look broken at all. Just swollen,” you muse to Kenpachi. “Did you already set it?”

“It was getting on my nerves,” he says dismissively.

“Hmph. Then what do you even need me for?” you chastise playfully, running your fingers over the inside of his wrist.

Healing kido rises to your fingertips and you touch them to his wrist again, seeking out the fracture and willing it to mend. Kenpachi is surprisingly patient during, in a way he’s never been for any other member of the Fourth but Captain Unohana herself. He isn’t watching you work, though. He’s watching your face, the way your brows draw together and you roll your lower lip between your teeth as you concentrate. He studies your lips a lot, with a soft look in his eyes that’s never been seen before.

Crushing, the nurses think to themselves in amazement. Kenpachi Zaraki is _crushing on you._

No, wait. It’s _more_ than that, they realize.

While you’re focusing, Kenpachi leans down and captures your lips in a sudden kiss. One of the nurses gasps, and two others quickly leap to silence the boy by clamping their hands over his mouth. In the examination room, you step back from Kenpachi with a small, startled squeak. Your spell falters and fades, and your face turns a bright shade of flustered red.

“Kenny!” you chastise.

 _Kenny,_ the nurses note in amazement. _Not Captain Zaraki._ Not even _Kenpachi._ Since when were you on  a _nickname_ basis with the Captain of the Eleventh Division? Since when had you started _kissing_ him?

_She’s dating Captain Zaraki!?_

You put your hands on your hips, fixating Kenpachi with a stern look. Something no sane member of the Gotei 13 would dare to do. “I’ve told you before, it isn’t a good idea to interrupt me when I’m working,” you scold.

Kenpachi grins again – leers, almost. “Couldn’t help it,” he says, though he sounds anything but apologetic. “I like the way you look when you’re focusing.”

 _The way she bites her lip._ A fair amount of the Fourth Division can agree that, yeah, it’s cute.

“So you choose to ruin that focus? Behave yourself, Kenny.”

“Yeah? Or what?” he taunts.

Your glare falters, and the officers outside of the room wonder if it was ever real to begin with. The smile on your lips seems to come much more easily to you as you step closer, right into Kenpachi’s personal space. You lean forward to brush your lips against his. “Do you really want to find out?”

Kenpachi’s arm curls around your waist. He pulls you even closer so that your body is flush against his. “I might.”

His tone is a low, gravelly purr. It resonates through the bones of every nurse watching, and dances down the spine like a sinful promise. None of them ever would have thought that Kenpachi Zaraki could ever sound _sexy,_ but there’s no other word that could describe that tone of his.

The captain dips down to your level. Right before he can snatch a kiss from you, however, you tilt your head to the side. He misses his mark, and then you’re right in his ear whispering, “I can promise you that it won’t involve any of _that._ ”

There’s a growl. A dangerous, throaty growl that would make most flee in terror. You meet that growl with a smile and a teasing glitter in your eyes, and the sound just . . . dissolves. Kenpachi grunts, then grins, then releases you and offers his broken wrist. _Submits._

 _So that’s what it takes to make him compliant?!_ Your audience is in utter disbelief.

You take his hand in yours, calling your healing spell back and pouring your energy into restoring his broken bone. “Much better,” you hum. “Really, it’s bad enough you’re always sneaking in here to see me. You can’t stall to keep me here forever.”

“I could try,” Kenpachi suggests.

You laugh. “I have _work_ to do _,_ Kenny.”

He doesn’t try to kiss you again, but this time he dips down to nuzzle your hair, your cheek, the side of your neck. “That’s the problem,” he grumbles. “You’re always working. Don’t you ever take a damn break?”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling neglected, Kenny,” you tease.

His response is to nip at the side of your neck. Your body jolts and a gasp escapes you, but, surprisingly, you manage to keep a grip on your healing. Even through the shiver that ripples down your spine when his tongue rasps over a mark that could easily last the next few days.

“Suppose I should take that as a yes?” you muse, voice a little breathier.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to come home earlier than two in the morning once or twice,” he huffs.

You sigh, then smile, then lean your head against his. It’s a tender gesture, one that prompts him to nuzzle along the underside of your jaw. A surprisingly gentle action for a man so known for his violent and battle-hungry nature.

“It’s hard to make promises in this division, but . . . I’ll be free in an hour for lunch,” you murmur. “Meet me between barracks? Outside the Eighth, maybe?”

“I’ll be there.”

You turn your head to the side to kiss his cheek, then release his hand. “It should be better now,” you tell him. “Let me know if something feels off.”

Kenpachi draws back, experiments by rolling his wrist one way, then the other. Draws his Zanpakutô  halfway from its scabbard, then seems satisfied that the bone is no longer shifting out of alignment with each motion. “Feels good,” he announces.

“No more injuries for the rest of the day, got it?” you tell him – _order him,_ more like.

He gives you that dangerous grin. In the face of that, you might as well be prey right in the grasp of a predator. And still you give him a smile like sunshine and lift up onto your toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you promise when you part, giving him a wink.

It’s then that every gathered onlooker is forced to scramble away from the door and back to their stations. The show is over. You’ve turned away and are nudging the door open with a small comment of, “Huh, I didn’t know I forgot to close it,” under your breath. Kenpachi slips past you, just grazing his fingertips along your hip as he passes like he needs that final, discreet bit of contact before he’s willing to leave.

You don’t notice the people around you making an obvious effort to look unsuspecting and busy. Maybe because you’re too caught up in watching Kenpachi leave, a small smile on your lips and a certain adoration in your eyes.

It isn’t until you leave for lunch around noon that your coworkers give themselves away. At that point, the gossip has spread all throughout the Fourth Division (and is rapidly making its way around the rest of the Seireitei), and a nurse at the front desk sees you off with a cheerful, “Have fun on your date with Captain Zaraki, [Y/N]!” before she can even stop herself.

The comment has you freezing, then blushing, then squeaking and scurrying away immediately. But it’s sort of a relief for the rest of the division. Now that you know that _they_ know, they can all press you for extra details as soon as you return from lunch. They’re already whispering about what they want to know before you’ve even made it out the door.

Gossip like _that_ will keep them all fueled throughout the hours better than _any_ energy drink.


	8. Gossip 『 Kenpachi Zaraki • [ M ] Reader 』

The whole of the Fourth Division becomes suspicious when Captain Kenpachi Zaraki arrives in the morning complaining about a broken wrist. That is, more suspicious than they’ve been for the past several weeks. He’s been visiting the Fourth more and more often with the sort of injuries that he would usually consider trivial. It’s hard enough to get the man to accept medical attention even when he’s gotten out of a fight that’s left him half-dead, rare as the occurrence is. The idea that he would _willingly_ seek medical aid for something as small to him as a broken wrist is laughable.

Or it would’ve been, before this all started. Something’s up. They can feel it in the air.

What adds to their suspicion is that he’s _always_ demanding the same healer. The Fourth has tested this theory several times over, assigning him a different medic each time only to see him chase them off with ferocious glares or a stubbornly uncooperative attitude. It isn’t until they fetch the officer he prefers that he becomes compliant. 

It’s always [Y/N]. He’s an excellent healer, a seated officer, and overall a good person, but . . . What makes him of interest to Captain Zaraki is still unclear. But gossip is the lifeblood of the Fourth Division, one of few things that help them all survive through double and sometimes even triple shifts, so, of course, half of the division happily sets their minds to solving this particular puzzle.

It’s a bit of a miracle that you don’t realize almost two dozen members of the Fourth are peering into the examination room where you’re tending to Captain Zaraki that morning. Especially when the lot of them keep whispering to and shushing each other, and fighting for a good view through the small space between the door and doorframe.

“How did you manage this one?” you ask conversationally, fingers gently running over the small, out-of-place bump in Kenpachi’s right wrist.

“Madarame and Ayasegawa,” he replies simply. “I was sparring with them.”

Your lips twitch into a slight smile. Sparring in the Eleventh isn’t the same as it is in every other division. It’s much more violent and brutal. Limits are pushed, bones broken, blood spilled. It’s the reason why the Fourth is _always_ overrun with Shinigami from the Eleventh.

“Those two didn’t come along with you, did they?” you ask.

“Nah. They’ll be fine in a few days,” he assures.

You laugh, soft and warm, and Kenpachi grins. It would be a scary sight in any other scenario, since it seems like _all_ of his grins are that of an overly aggressive maniac, but when it’s directed at you it seems sort of . . . sweet. Sweet enough to have a slight dusting of pink grace your cheeks. A _blush._

This warrants much whispering from the group clustered outside. Their consensus for the situation thus far is that _maybe_ you’re crushing on Captain Zaraki. Maybe the reason that he keeps coming by the Fourth is that he has a crush, too.

But that’s . . . too bizarre an idea, so they decide that it must be lust. You _are_ awfully handsome, after all. Warm eyes, soft lips, and a body that’s all hard muscle beneath your uniform. Half of your own division has wondered about you that way themselves. But it’s still hard to say anything for sure, so silence falls over the onlookers while they wait to learn more.

“It’s not all that nasty a break. In fact, it doesn’t really look broken at all. Just swollen,” you muse to Kenpachi. “Did you already set it?”

“It was getting on my nerves,” he says dismissively.

“Hmph. Then what do you even need me for?” you chastise playfully, running your fingers over the inside of his wrist.

Healing kido rises to your fingertips and you touch them to his wrist again, seeking out the fracture and willing it to mend. Kenpachi is surprisingly patient during, in a way he’s never been for any other member of the Fourth but Captain Unohana herself. He isn’t watching you work, though. He’s watching your face, the way your brows draw together and you roll your lower lip between your teeth as you concentrate. He studies your lips a lot, with a soft look in his eyes that’s never been seen before.

Crushing, the nurses think to themselves in amazement. Kenpachi Zaraki is _crushing on you._

No, wait. It’s _more_ than that, they realize.

While you’re focusing, Kenpachi leans down and captures your lips in a sudden kiss. One of the nurses gasps, and two others quickly leap to silence the boy by clamping their hands over his mouth. In the examination room, you step back from Kenpachi with a small, startled squeak. Your spell falters and fades, and your face turns a bright shade of flustered red.

“Kenny!” you chastise.

 _Kenny,_ the nurses note in amazement. _Not Captain Zaraki._ Not even _Kenpachi._ Since when were you on  a _nickname_ basis with the Captain of the Eleventh Division? Since when had you started _kissing_ him?

_He’s dating Captain Zaraki!?_

You put your hands on your hips, fixating Kenpachi with a stern look. Something no sane member of the Gotei 13 would dare to do. “I’ve told you before, it isn’t a good idea to interrupt me when I’m working,” you scold.

Kenpachi grins again – leers, almost. “Couldn’t help it,” he says, though he sounds anything but apologetic. “I like the way you look when you’re focusing.”

 _The way he bites his lip._ A fair amount of the Fourth Division can agree that, yeah, it’s cute.

“So you choose to ruin that focus? Behave yourself, Kenny.”

“Yeah? Or what?” he taunts.

Your glare falters, and the officers outside of the room wonder if it was ever real to begin with. The smile on your lips seems to come much more easily to you as you step closer, right into Kenpachi’s personal space. You lean forward to brush your lips against his. “Do you really want to find out?”

Kenpachi’s arm curls around your waist. He pulls you even closer so that your body is flush against his. “I might.”

His tone is a low, gravelly purr. It resonates through the bones of every nurse watching, and dances down the spine like a sinful promise. None of them ever would have thought that Kenpachi Zaraki could ever sound _sexy,_ but there’s no other word that could describe that tone of his.

The captain dips down to your level. Right before he can snatch a kiss from you, however, you tilt your head to the side. He misses his mark, and then you’re right in his ear whispering, “I can promise you that it won’t involve any of _that._ ”

There’s a growl. A dangerous, throaty growl that would make most flee in terror. You meet that growl with a smile and a teasing glitter in your eyes, and the sound just . . . dissolves. Kenpachi grunts, then grins, then releases you and offers his broken wrist. _Submits._

 _So that’s what it takes to make him compliant?!_ Your audience is in utter disbelief.

You take his hand in yours, calling your healing spell back and pouring your energy into restoring his broken bone. “Much better,” you hum. “Really, it’s bad enough you’re always sneaking in here to see me. You can’t stall to keep me here forever.”

“I could try,” Kenpachi suggests.

You laugh. “I have _work_ to do _,_ Kenny.”

He doesn’t try to kiss you again, but this time he dips down to nuzzle your hair, your cheek, the side of your neck. “That’s the problem,” he grumbles. “You’re always working. Don’t you ever take a damn break?”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling neglected, Kenny,” you tease.

His response is to nip at the side of your neck. Your body jolts and a gasp escapes you, but, surprisingly, you manage to keep a grip on your healing. Even through the shiver that ripples down your spine when his tongue rasps over a mark that could easily last the next few days.

“Suppose I should take that as a yes?” you muse, voice a little breathier.

“Wouldn’t hurt you to come home earlier than two in the morning once or twice,” he huffs.

You sigh, then smile, then lean your head against his. It’s a tender gesture, one that prompts him to nuzzle along the underside of your jaw. A surprisingly gentle action for a man so known for his violent and battle-hungry nature.

“It’s hard to make promises in this division, but . . . I’ll be free in an hour for lunch,” you murmur. “Meet me between barracks? Outside the Eighth, maybe?”

“I’ll be there.”

You turn your head to the side to kiss his cheek, then release his hand. “It should be better now,” you tell him. “Let me know if something feels off.”

Kenpachi draws back, experiments by rolling his wrist one way, then the other. Draws his Zanpakutô  halfway from its scabbard, then seems satisfied that the bone is no longer shifting out of alignment with each motion. “Feels good,” he announces.

“No more injuries for the rest of the day, got it?” you tell him – _order him,_ more like.

He gives you that dangerous grin. In the face of that, you might as well be prey right in the grasp of a predator. And still you give him a smile like sunshine and lift up onto your toes to press a kiss to his lips.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you promise when you part, giving him a wink.

It’s then that every gathered onlooker is forced to scramble away from the door and back to their stations. The show is over. You’ve turned away and are nudging the door open with a small comment of, “Huh, I didn’t know I forgot to close it,” under your breath. Kenpachi slips past you, just grazing his fingertips along your hip as he passes like he needs that final, discreet bit of contact before he’s willing to leave.

You don’t notice the people around you making an obvious effort to look unsuspecting and busy. Maybe because you’re too caught up in watching Kenpachi leave, a small smile on your lips and a certain adoration in your eyes.

It isn’t until you leave for lunch around noon that your coworkers give themselves away. At that point, the gossip has spread all throughout the Fourth Division (and is rapidly making its way around the rest of the Seireitei), and a nurse at the front desk sees you off with a cheerful, “Have fun on your date with Captain Zaraki, [Y/N]!” before she can even stop herself.

The comment has you freezing, then blushing, then squeaking and scurrying away immediately. But it’s sort of a relief for the rest of the division. Now that you know that _they_ know, they can all press you for extra details as soon as you return from lunch. They’re already whispering about what they want to know before you’ve even made it out the door.

Gossip like _that_ will keep them all fueled throughout the hours better than _any_ energy drink.


	9. Missed You 『 Ichigo Kurosaki • [ F ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also features Kon (in Ichigo’s body), but not in a romantic sense. Not as much as he might wish it was. Also – kinda angsty?

Your gaze hasn’t left the ground since leaving the school grounds. It’s been there for the better half of the walk home, and it’s a little unnerving for Kon. Or maybe calling it concerning would be more accurate. You’re usually much more talkative and cheerful than this, and watching you from the corner of eye Kon can almost _see_ the gloomy aura that surrounds you.

 _This is all because of Ichigo,_ he thinks to himself with an internal huff. _The nerve of that guy! Leaving his girlfriend behind while he runs off to the Seireitei again for who knows how long!_

Not that this is a first. It’s a miracle that you haven’t moved on and found someone new already. Someone better. Kon wouldn’t blame you if you did, but he knows you’re not the type. Too good, too pure, and so dedicated that you would wait for weeks on end for a man that – in Kon’s personal and _strong_ opinion – does _not_ deserve you.

He’s going to give Ichigo a good smack upside the head whenever that moron returns. All on your behalf. Really, leaving you here to wait on him. You with your sunny smile, gentle nature, warm heart, and that super-cute blouse that’s a little too tight and shows off _every_ succulent curve . . .

On most occasions, Kon has an allotted three seconds to appreciate your figure while he walks you home. (Not that he ever manages to stay in that time frame. Whoops.) But with your gaze down and your attention far from him, he gives himself five seconds today. Make that seven. No, ten because if he falls behind a couple of steps, he can admire your ass . . . Maybe twelve seconds.

“Do you think he’ll be home soon?”

Your voice tears him from his reverie. He snaps to attention and hastens his pace in hopes that you hadn’t noticed him staring. Judging by the way you’re still gazing into the distance off at the side, he figures not. _Phew._

“Huh? You mean Ichigo?” he asks.

You nod a little morosely, then look back down at the pavement. Kon can’t help the stab of pity he feels for you. “It’s already been two weeks since he left . . . ”

At that, Kon can only offer a shrug. “Who knows? He’s supposed to be doubling down on his training over there. You know he can get pretty into it. You’ve seen him at Urahara’s, how intense he is about it all.”

You smile faintly. It isn’t all that warm, though. Kon curses Ichigo. Anyone who can stand to make a pretty young woman so upset deserves to suffer for such a heinous crime. “Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “But it’s too bad I can’t call him or text or anything while he’s gone. It’d be a lot easier if I just had _some_ way to check on him.”

“You’re worried about him,” Kon guesses.

“Aren’t you sometimes? I mean, the way he talks about the Soul Society . . . He makes it sound like it’s full of raving lunatics – ”

“It kinda is,” Kon mutters under his breath with a shudder.

“ – and when he just disappears without telling me when he’ll be back . . . ” you trail off, shoulders slumping.

Kon folds his arms behind his head. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much. Anything goes bad, Ichigo will be right back on his feet in no time. He’s a bit of a stubborn ass like that.”

“Maybe so,” you sigh, catching your lower lip between your teeth in a small, absent-minded gesture that always makes Kon’s heart skip a beat. “I guess I feel a little . . . left out. Chad, Uryu, Rukia, and even Orihime get to run off with him while I’m just – _here._ Human and useless.”

The corners of Kon’s mouth pull down into a frown. “Hey . . . don’t say that about yourself,” he murmurs.

You don’t reply. Instead you sigh through your nose and shake your head, eyes still on the ground. Kon draws a little closer to you, giving you a gentle nudge with his hip. “I’m sure Ichigo _seems_ like the world’s worst boyfriend, but everything he’s doing over there is for you and everyone else he loves. He wants to be able to protect you,” he assures. “You’re not stuck here ‘cos you’re useless or anything. He just wants you to stay safe.”

You stop in your tracks then, and he stops next to you. A moment of silence passes by, and then you turn and throw your arms around him in a sudden hug. For several long seconds, Kon’s wide-eyed and too startled to do anything but stand there with his arms out like a fool.

“I know I’ve never told you this before,” you murmur against his chest. “But I really appreciate all the time you spend with me when Ichigo’s away. Appreciate you in general, really.”

Kon’s eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. He almost let them fall. You’re always so sweet that you make his heart ache with such an overwhelming amount of affection. Stupid Ichigo for leaving you behind all the time when you’re so _perfect._ Jeez, why is Kon always trying to cover _his_ ass when he could have you all to himself? _He_ wouldn’t leave you wondering all the time. _He_ would treat you right – like the angel you are.

And if you were his, a voice whispers in the back of Kon’s mind, he would get everything else that Ichigo was taking for granted. Like . . .

He has to swallow a whimper as he wraps his arms around you in return. His hand rests on your lower back, then twitches longingly. He can’t even control himself as he lifts it, moves it down, makes sure it doesn’t even brush against your skirt until he knows he’s reached the hem.

“O-Oh, wow, [Y/N],” he manages. “That’s s-so sweet of you.”

His fingers tremble and twitch. All he has to do is reach out and go in for the kill and – oh, he wants to. He wants to so bad. He _needs_ to. It’s a matter of life or death and he might die on the spot if he doesn’t – just – _squeeze_ –

“Hey! Get your hands off her, you lousy pervert!”

Before Kon can even get the chance to touch your ass, his world is tilting on its axis. He’s aware of your concerned squeak of, “Kon!” and then he finds himself facedown on the concrete, practically being smothered into it by a heavy weight on the back of his head.

There’s an all too familiar growl and a shout of, “What did I tell you!? You’re supposed to keep your hands _off her!”_

“G-Good to see you again, too, Ichigo,” Kon groans weakly.

“ . . . Ichigo?” you repeat from where you stand.

You have to strain to see him, pursing your lips as you concentrate until finally, _finally_ your boyfriend materializes into view. Not Kon inhabiting Ichigo’s body, but the _real_ Ichigo. He’s standing over Kon with a foot to his head, dressed in the black robes of a Shinigami with Zangetsu strapped to his back. It’s still a bizarre sight, rare as it is for you to see, but the scowl he’s directing at Kon is familiar and it warms your heart.

“Ichigo!” you exclaim, smiling brightly. “You’re back!”

Ichigo glances up from beating Kon out of his body. Much to the distress of Kon, who is wheezing against the pavement. “Hey, [Y/N],” he says smoothly. “Kon didn’t do anything shady while I was gone, did he?”

You blink as, finally, the tiny marble-like mod soul pops out of the mouth of Ichigo’s body, rolling across the pavement until Ichigo picks it up. “Huh? No, he hasn’t,” you say. “He’s been so sweet to me, actually. Ate lunch with me, brought me home every evening. He even took me out a couple of times when I got too lonely.” 

After slipping back into his own body (much to your relief – straining to see his Shinigami self for long periods of time tends to leave you with headaches), Ichigo gives the pill-sized Kon a scrutinizing look. “Yeah, I’m sure he was happy to,” he mutters, pocketing Kon in his jacket.

You didn’t put much stock into that comment. Where Ichigo’s always getting the idea that Kon is lusting after you, you have no real clue. It’s cute to see him get worked up about it, though, so you let it slide.

Ichigo doesn’t protest when you move closer to take his hand and lace your fingers together. It’s a small amount of contact, but after two weeks without any at all it’s still enough to improve your mood. You don’t feel like as much of a sorry mess, at least.

“So, how was the Seireitei?” you ask him, leaning your head against his shoulder and leading the way down the street. Of course, you don’t take the turn that would lead to your home, though. You veer to the right, which sets you on the path to the Kurosaki household. Now that he’s back – returning again as suddenly as he had left – you feel the need to drink in all the attention you can possibly glean from him.

“Chaotic as ever, but – ” Ichigo pauses as he glances down at you, then frowns. “Hey, what’s up with you?”

You look up at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He reaches out with his free hand, touching the space between your brows with the tip of a finger. “Whenever you’re upset about something, you get this little crease right here,” he explains. “So what’s wrong?”

A small blush rises to your cheeks. Ichigo may not be around often, but you could never accuse him of being ignorant. He’s an attentive boyfriend. More so than most people might ever suspect. It’s something you’ve never gone without appreciating.

You hesitate, then look away, then sigh and smile and shake your head. You don’t need to ruin his return by lamenting all over again. “Nothing. I missed you a lot, that’s all,” you tell him.

For a moment, Ichigo looks like he wants to pry. He doesn’t, though. He never does. If you want to stay silent, he’ll respect that. So instead he brushes off whatever concerns are nagging at him in favor of dipping down to brush his lips against your temple affectionately. “Missed you, too,” he murmurs, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Sorry. If I thought I was going to be gone that long, I would’ve said something before I left.”

And he would’ve. Because, yes, he comes and goes and it can be so unpredictable, but he’s never thoughtless when it comes to you. Absences be damned, Ichigo Kurosaki _is_ a good boyfriend. And it’s for that reason that you can always find it in your heart to forgive him for running off all the time, even if you always miss him so horribly while he’s gone.

“I know your training’s important to you,” you assure him.

“Well, yeah. But so are you, [Y/N],” he adds.

You glance back up at him and offer him an amused smile. It’s the sight of his eyes, such a warm shade of brown, gazing down at you with that mixture of affection and concern that warms your heart immensely. Maybe some of your worries are a little unwarranted. Ichigo’s never given you reason to fear about whether or not he really cares, after all.

 

**Bonus BC Isshin:**

Some part of you is immensely grateful for how small Ichigo’s bed is. It means always sleeping with intertwined limbs, close enough to share each other’s warmth all night long. It’s one of your favorite things about sleeping over at Ichigo’s house. (Another being able to fall asleep nestled against his chest and exchanging warm, lethargic kisses until you both doze off.)

Another thing you like about staying the night at the Kurosaki household is his father. Because no matter how frustrating Ichigo thinks he is, you’ve got a special fondness for Isshin’s antics.

When you wake up in the morning, it’s to Ichigo and Isshin arguing in the hall outside the bedroom. Isshin is giving his son yet another lecture on safe sex. Loudly and explicitly, and you don’t have to see Ichigo to know that his face is undoubtedly as red as an actual strawberry.

“Dad!” he hisses.

“ – and you should _never_ underestimate the importance of a condom – ”

“Dad, _keep your voice down!”_

“ – because even though I know that one day you and [Y/N] are going to have the _cuuuuutest_ little grandkids for me to dote on – ”

“Would you _stop!?_ We’re not even there yet!”

“ – you should save it for _after_ high school, at least. And – ”

“Pipe down, dammit! You’re going to end up waking her up!” 

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing the blankets aside and climbing out of bed. Ichigo’s in need of a rescue, you can feel it. So you cross the room and slip out into the hall, right between father and son – both of whom fall silent the moment you appear. 

“Morning, Ichigo,” you hum, stretching up onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek, which does nothing to ease his blush. You turn a smile to Isshin afterwards, the sweetest and most innocent one you could possibly manage. “And good morning to you, too, Mr. Kurosaki.”

He does an instant one-eighty, going right from “lecturing” mode to “fawn over son’s girlfriend” mode. He ditches the stern look for sparkly eyes and a doting smile. “[Y/N], you’re up!” he exclaims. “Y’know, I kept telling Ichigo to not talk so loud, so if he’s what woke you up I’ll make sure to give him a good scolding!”

“What!? You were the one practically shouting about condoms!” Ichigo protests, though the comment goes totally unnoticed by Isshin, who you’re already guiding downstairs and discussing breakfast with.


	10. Missed You 『 Ichigo Kurosaki • [ M ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Also features Kon (in Ichigo’s body), but not in a romantic sense. Not as much as he might wish it was. Also – kinda angsty?

Your gaze hasn’t left the ground since leaving the school grounds. It’s been there for the better half of the walk home, and it’s a little unnerving for Kon. Or maybe calling it concerning would be more accurate. You’re usually much more talkative and cheerful than this, and watching you from the corner of eye Kon can almost _see_ the gloomy aura that surrounds you.

 _This is all because of Ichigo,_ he thinks to himself with an internal huff. _The nerve of that guy! Leaving his boyfriend behind while he runs off to the Seireitei again for who knows how long!_

Not that this is a first. It’s a miracle that you haven’t moved on and found someone new already. Someone better. Kon wouldn’t blame you if you did, but he knows you’re not the type. Too good, too pure, and so dedicated that you would wait for weeks on end for a man that – in Kon’s personal and _strong_ opinion – does _not_ deserve you.

He’s going to give Ichigo a good smack upside the head whenever that moron returns. All on your behalf. Really, leaving you here to wait on him. You with your sunny smile, gentle nature, warm heart, and that t-shirt that’s a little too tight and shows off _every_ line of lean muscle . . .

On most occasions, Kon has an allotted three seconds to appreciate your figure while he walks you home. (Not that he ever manages to stay in that time frame. Whoops.) But with your gaze down and your attention far from him, he gives himself five seconds today. Make that seven. No, ten because if he falls behind a couple of steps, he can admire your ass . . . Maybe twelve seconds.

“Do you think he’ll be home soon?”

Your voice tears him from his reverie. He snaps to attention and hastens his pace in hopes that you hadn’t noticed him staring. Judging by the way you’re still gazing into the distance off at the side, he figures not. _Phew._

“Huh? You mean Ichigo?” he asks.

You nod a little morosely, then look back down at the pavement. Kon can’t help the stab of pity he feels for you. “It’s already been two weeks since he left . . . ”

At that, Kon can only offer a shrug. “Who knows? He’s supposed to be doubling down on his training over there. You know he can get pretty into it. You’ve seen him at Urahara’s, how intense he is about it all.”

You smile faintly. It isn’t all that warm, though. Kon curses Ichigo. Anyone who can stand to make a gorgeous young man so upset deserves to suffer for such a heinous crime. “Yeah, I know,” you sigh. “But it’s too bad I can’t call him or text or anything while he’s gone. It’d be a lot easier if I just had _some_ way to check on him.”

“You’re worried about him,” Kon guesses.

“Aren’t you sometimes? I mean, the way he talks about the Soul Society . . . He makes it sound like it’s full of raving lunatics – ”

“It kinda is,” Kon mutters under his breath with a shudder.

“ – and when he just disappears without telling me when he’ll be back . . . ” you trail off, shoulders slumping.

Kon folds his arms behind his head. “Eh, I wouldn’t worry too much. Anything goes bad, Ichigo will be right back on his feet in no time. He’s a bit of a stubborn ass like that.”

“Maybe so,” you sigh, catching your lower lip between your teeth in a small, absent-minded gesture that always makes Kon’s heart skip a beat. “I guess I feel a little . . . left out. Chad, Uryu, Rukia, and even Orihime get to run off with him while I’m just – _here._ Human and useless.”

The corners of Kon’s mouth pull down into a frown. “Hey . . . don’t say that about yourself,” he murmurs.

You don’t reply. Instead you sigh through your nose and shake your head, eyes still on the ground. Kon draws a little closer to you, giving you a gentle nudge with his hip. “I’m sure Ichigo _seems_ like the world’s worst boyfriend, but everything he’s doing over there is for you and everyone else he loves. He wants to be able to protect you,” he assures. “You’re not stuck here ‘cos you’re useless or anything. He just wants you to stay safe.”

You stop in your tracks then, and he stops next to you. A moment of silence passes by, and then you turn and throw your arms around him in a sudden hug. For several long seconds, Kon’s wide-eyed and too startled to do anything but stand there with his arms out like a fool.

“I know I’ve never told you this before,” you murmur against his chest. “But I really appreciate all the time you spend with me when Ichigo’s away. Appreciate you in general, really.”

Kon’s eyes begin to sting with unshed tears. He almost let them fall. You’re always so sweet that you make his heart ache with such an overwhelming amount of affection. Stupid Ichigo for leaving you behind all the time when you’re so _perfect._ Jeez, why is Kon always trying to cover _his_ ass when he could have you all to himself? _He_ wouldn’t leave you wondering all the time. _He_ would treat you right – like the angel you are.

And if you were his, a voice whispers in the back of Kon’s mind, he would get everything else that Ichigo was taking for granted. Like . . .

He has to swallow a whimper as he wraps his arms around you in return. His hand rests on your lower back, then twitches longingly. He can’t even control himself as he lifts it, moves it down, makes sure it doesn’t even brush against your pants until he knows _exactly_ what his hand is poised over.

“O-Oh, wow, [Y/N],” he manages. “That’s s-so sweet of you.”

His fingers tremble and twitch. All he has to do is reach out and go in for the kill and – oh, he wants to. He wants to so bad. He _needs_ to. It’s a matter of life or death and he might die on the spot if he doesn’t – just – _squeeze_ –

“Hey! Get your hands off him, you lousy pervert!”

Before Kon can even get the chance to touch your ass, his world is tilting on its axis. He’s aware of your concerned squeak of, “Kon!” and then he finds himself facedown on the concrete, practically being smothered into it by a heavy weight on the back of his head.

There’s an all too familiar growl and a shout of, “What did I tell you!? You’re supposed to keep your hands _off him!”_

“G-Good to see you again, too, Ichigo,” Kon groans weakly.

“ . . . Ichigo?” you repeat from where you stand.

You have to strain to see him, pursing your lips as you concentrate until finally, _finally_ your boyfriend materializes into view. Not Kon inhabiting Ichigo’s body, but the _real_ Ichigo. He’s standing over Kon with a foot to his head, dressed in the black robes of a Shinigami with Zangetsu strapped to his back. It’s still an bizarre sight, rare as it is for you to see, but the scowl he’s directing at Kon is familiar and it warms your heart.

“Ichigo!” you exclaim, smiling brightly. “You’re back!”

Ichigo glances up from beating Kon out of his body. Much to the distress of Kon, who is wheezing against the pavement. “Hey, [Y/N],” he says smoothly. “Kon didn’t do anything shady while I was gone, did he?”

You blink as, finally, the tiny marble-like mod soul pops out of the mouth of Ichigo’s body, rolling across the pavement until Ichigo picks it up. “Huh? No, he hasn’t,” you say. “He’s been so sweet to me, actually. Ate lunch with me, brought me home every evening. He even took me out a couple of times when I got too lonely.” 

After slipping back into his own body (much to your relief – straining to see his Shinigami self for long periods of time tends to leave you with headaches), Ichigo gives the pill-sized Kon a scrutinizing look. “Yeah, I’m sure he was happy to,” he mutters, pocketing Kon in his jacket.

You didn’t put much stock into that comment. Where Ichigo’s always getting the idea that Kon is lusting after you, you have no real clue. It’s cute to see him get worked up about it, though, so you let it slide.

Ichigo doesn’t protest when you move closer to take his hand and lace your fingers together. It’s a small amount of contact, but after two weeks without any at all it’s still enough to improve your mood. You don’t feel like as much of a sorry mess, at least.

“So, how was the Seireitei?” you ask him, leaning your head against his shoulder and leading the way down the street. Of course, you don’t take the turn that would lead to your home, though. You veer to the right, which sets you on the path to the Kurosaki household. Now that he’s back – returning again as suddenly as he had left – you feel the need to drink in all the attention you can possibly glean from him.

“Chaotic as ever, but – ” Ichigo pauses as he glances over at you, then frowns. “Hey, what’s up with you?”

You look at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He reaches out with his free hand, touching the space between your brows with the tip of a finger. “Whenever you’re upset about something, you get this little crease right here,” he explains. “So what’s wrong?”

A small blush rises to your cheeks. Ichigo may not be around often, but you could never accuse him of being ignorant. He’s an attentive boyfriend. More so than most people might ever suspect. It’s something you’ve never gone without appreciating.

You hesitate, then look away, then sigh and smile and shake your head. You don’t need to ruin his return by lamenting all over again. “Nothing. I missed you a lot, that’s all,” you tell him.

For a moment, Ichigo looks like he wants to pry. He doesn’t, though. He never does. If you want to stay silent, he’ll respect that. So instead he brushes off whatever concerns are nagging at him in favor of turning his head to brush his lips against your temple affectionately. “Missed you, too,” he murmurs, giving your hand a little squeeze. “Sorry. If I thought I was going to be gone that long, I would’ve said something before I left.”

And he would’ve. Because, yes, he comes and goes and it can be so unpredictable, but he’s never thoughtless when it comes to you. Absences be damned, Ichigo Kurosaki _is_ a good boyfriend. And it’s for that reason that you can always find it in your heart to forgive him for running off all the time, even if you always miss him so horribly while he’s gone.

“I know your training’s important to you,” you assure him.

“Well, yeah. But so are you, [Y/N],” he adds.

You glance back up at him and offer him an amused smile. It’s the sight of his eyes, such a warm shade of brown, gazing down at you with that mixture of affection and concern that warms your heart immensely. Maybe some of your worries are a little unwarranted. Ichigo’s never given you reason to fear about whether or not he really cares, after all.

 

**Bonus BC Isshin:**

Some part of you is immensely grateful for how small Ichigo’s bed is. It means always sleeping with intertwined limbs, close enough to share each other’s warmth all night long. It’s one of your favorite things about sleeping over at Ichigo’s house. (Another being able to fall asleep nestled against his chest and exchanging warm, lethargic kisses until you both doze off.)

Another thing you like about staying the night at the Kurosaki household is his father. Because no matter how frustrating Ichigo thinks he is, you’ve got a special fondness for Isshin’s antics.

When you wake up in the morning, it’s to Ichigo and Isshin arguing in the hall outside the bedroom. Isshin is giving his son yet another lecture on safe sex. Loudly and explicitly, and you don’t have to see Ichigo to know that his face is undoubtedly as red as an actual strawberry.

“Dad, _keep your voice down_!” he hisses.

“ – and you should _never_ underestimate the importance of a condom – ”

 “Pipe down, dammit! You’re going to end up waking him up!” 

You laugh and roll your eyes, pushing the blankets aside and climbing out of bed. Ichigo’s in need of a rescue, you can feel it. So you cross the room and slip out into the hall, right between father and son – both of whom fall silent the moment you appear. 

“Morning, Ichigo,” you hum, stretching up onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek, which does nothing to ease his blush. You turn a smile to Isshin afterwards, the sweetest and most innocent one you could possibly manage. “And good morning to you, too, Mr. Kurosaki.”

He does an instant one-eighty, going right from “lecturing” mode to “fawn over son’s boyfriend” mode. He ditches the stern look for sparkly eyes and a doting smile. “[Y/N], you’re up!” he exclaims. “Y’know, I kept telling Ichigo to not talk so loud, so if he’s what woke you up I’ll make sure to give him a good scolding!”

“What!? You were the one practically shouting about condoms!” Ichigo protests, though the comment goes totally unnoticed by Isshin, who you’re already guiding downstairs and discussing breakfast with.


	11. The Best 『 Shuhei Hisagi • [ F ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to have his children.

You can feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. Pure, liquefied delight blurs your vision, and you have the sudden urge to throw yourself into Shuhei’s arms and smother him in kisses of gratitude. “Are those . . . ?” you begin, staring at the stacked papers in his arms with a look of reverence.

“All of my notes from Shin’o Academy,” he confirms. “Took me a while to hunt them all down, but I figured you might appreciate the effort.”

 _Appreciate_ is too lackluster a word choice. This is one of those moments that proves all over again that Shuhei is indeed the best friend in all existence. He had been one of the finest students to ever graduate Shin’o Academy, the type of prodigy that only appeared once every a few decades. As confident as you were that you would pass your upcoming exams, having his notes on hand could see you passing at the top of your class. Really, he might as well be offering you the Holy Grail of study material.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the _best?_ ” you breathe.                                          

The corner of Shuhei’s mouth kicks up into a little lopsided smile. “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again every once in a while,” he hums.

He chooses then to set the stack of folders, notebooks, and loose papers down on the table beside you. Maybe because he knows you well enough to know what comes next. Which he does.

With a grin so wide that it almost hurts, you launch yourself onto his lap and into his arms. You hug him tight and you hug him _hard._ He returns the favor, warm breath ghosting over your skin as he chuckles against the side of your neck.

“You’re the _best,_ ” you praise him. “The best tutor, the best boyfriend, the best friend overall – I don’t know what I’d _ever_ do without you, Shuu.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” he laughs.

You withdraw to give him a smile, then lean in to kiss him. It catches him by surprise, mid-laugh, and you’re pretty pleased with the brief, flustered sound he makes before humming his appreciation. One of his hands reach up to brush through your hair affectionately when he returns the kiss, but that’s as far as it goes before he pulls away. It’s one of the terms of his helping you, but you don’t mind when _another_ of those terms involves you being able to claim a _very_ pleasant reward after each session – provided you’ve paid attention, anyways. (Unlike half the instructors at Shin’o Academy, Shuhei has a way of making learning _so_ very worthwhile.)

For someone who so thoroughly discourages distractions, however, he’s kissing along your jaw even after he breaks the initial kiss. But, of course, you’re all too happy to tilt your head to the side and invite him to continue. A moment like this deserves a little indulgence, honestly. “Final exams start in a week,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re going to have to spend every minute of it cramming.”

You lift your chin determinedly, a confident smile playing across your lips. “I think I’m more than up to the task.”

When your eyes drift back down to Shuhei, he’s gazing back at you with a look like approval, admiration and pride. It’s one of those looks that makes you want to squirm with absolute delight. You settle for kissing him again instead.

He’s perfect, and you’re still so ecstatic that he went through all the trouble of digging up his old notes for you from _wherever_ he’s had them stashed for the past few decades. Even more elated by the knowledge that _six years_ of his support and assistance with your studies is finally coming to fruition. In a little over a week, you’re going to graduate one of the top students of Shin’o Academy. Partially because of your own hard work and perseverance, but you’re going to owe a _lot_ to Shuhei for all his help.

After that long working your ass off, you deserve to take a little time out to celebrate.

You give Shuhei the most devious smile you can manage and trace your fingers over the little 69 tattooed beneath his eye. It never fails to illicit a small shiver from him. “So, if a good study session earns me some of the best sex of my life, what’s my reward going to be when I actually graduate?” you purr.

His eyes glitter with amusement, and maybe there’s a little devious glint somewhere down in there, too. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, won’t you?” he counters, turning his head so that he can kiss the inside of your wrist.

You bat your eyelashes at him sweetly in that way that you know he can’t resist. “But I’ve earned at least a little preview for my efforts so far, haven’t I, Shuu?”

“Mm . . . Maybe a preview,” he agrees, nipping at your wrist playfully.

 

**Bonus BC Kensei:**

Kensei has a lot of respect for how hardworking his lieutenant is, even if there are a lot of times that he finds himself exasperated with the way Shuhei feels the need to push himself a little _too_ hard. Still, he can appreciate having a second-in-command that he doesn’t constantly need to chastise or reprimand. Shuhei’s capable of being professional and focused, and he’s ideal in a lot of regards that some lieutenants just _aren’t._

Or . . . he _used_ to be, anyways.

He’s said Shuhei’s name, oh . . . three times now? He’s becoming increasingly tempted to reach forward and smack him upside the head to get his attention at this point.

Shuhei’s in another world entirely. Kensei can tell. His eyes are fixed on the other side of the room, like he’s completely forgotten his captain exists. It would’ve been unheard of in the past, but it’s become more and more commonplace these days. And when Kensei ventures to follow his lieutenant’s gaze . . . 

Of course it’s her – the only other person that Shuhei seems to be aware of anymore.

It’s his girlfriend that he’s staring at. She’s one of their newest recruits, fresh from Shin’o Academy. Kensei remembers her. He hadn’t needed to hear Shuhei’s (extremely biased) assurances about how brilliant the girl was to accept her into the Ninth Division. She was one of the top students out of the last graduating batch, took and excelled in some of the most advanced courses, was leagues ahead of her peers in developing a relationship with her Zanpakutou, and had some of the highest grades of her entire class. If she hadn’t already had her heart set on the Ninth (for obvious reasons) he would’ve had to fight every other captain in the Gotei 13 tooth and nail for her.

Now he’s beginning to wonder if it’s still as good a decision as it had been a few weeks ago.

At the moment, you’re leaning over a table with two of Kensei’s editors, conferring with them over several articles at once. You aren’t even an official editor yourself, but you’ve got such a keen eye that a lot of them have started seeking you out for assistance from time to time. You seem to like the work on top of it, and are so absorbed in it now that you don’t even notice the doting gaze that’s been fixated on you for several minutes now.

Or maybe you’re not as unaware as you seem.

For the briefest of moments, you lift your gaze to look across the room. Kensei’s not sure you even notice him watching you. The only person you have eyes for is Shuhei. You give him a small, shy smile before ducking your head and returning your attention to your work.

Shuhei actually sighs in admiration, a half-smile on his lips and puppy love in his eyes.

Kensei pinches the bridge of his nose. Inhales, then exhales. This is the _exact_ reason why inner-division relationships make him so antsy. They’re distractions of the worst kind. Not to mention that it’s damn annoying that he’s going to have to compete with his lieutenant’s _girlfriend_ to hold his attention.

But . . . he’ll let the kid enjoy it a little while longer. He’ll save the lecture for a few more days, anyways. At least Shuhei’s lost the shadows under his eyes and doesn’t look _that_ much like an overworked caffeine addict anymore.

For now, though, he’s reaching forward to give Shuhei the smack he damn well deserves because Kensei is not going to repeat himself for a _fourth_ time.


	12. The Best 『 Shuhei Hisagi • [ M ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I want to have his children.

You can feel the sting of tears at the corners of your eyes. Pure, liquefied delight blurs your vision, and you have the sudden urge to throw yourself into Shuhei’s arms and smother him in kisses of gratitude. “Are those . . . ?” you begin, staring at the stacked papers in his arms with a look of reverence.

“All of my notes from Shin’o Academy,” he confirms. “Took me a while to hunt them all down, but I figured you might appreciate the effort.”

 _Appreciate_ is too lackluster a word choice. This is one of those moments that proves all over again that Shuhei is indeed the best friend in all existence. He had been one of the finest students to ever graduate Shin’o Academy, the type of prodigy that only appeared once every a few decades. As confident as you were that you would pass your upcoming exams, having his notes on hand could see you passing at the top of your class. Really, he might as well be offering you the Holy Grail of study material.

“Have I ever told you that you’re the _best?_ ” you breathe.                                          

The corner of Shuhei’s mouth kicks up into a little lopsided smile. “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again every once in a while,” he hums.

He chooses then to set the stack of folders, notebooks, and loose papers down on the table beside you. Maybe because he knows you well enough to know what comes next. Which he does.

With a grin so wide that it almost hurts, you launch yourself onto his lap and into his arms. You hug him tight and you hug him _hard._ He returns the favor, warm breath ghosting over your skin as he chuckles against the side of your neck.

“You’re the _best,_ ” you praise him. “The best tutor, the best boyfriend, the best friend overall – I don’t know what I’d _ever_ do without you, Shuu.”

“You’re giving me too much credit,” he laughs.

You withdraw to give him a smile, then lean in to kiss him. It catches him by surprise, mid-laugh, and you’re pretty pleased with the brief, flustered sound he makes before humming his appreciation. One of his hands reach up to brush through your hair affectionately when he returns the kiss, but that’s as far as it goes before he pulls away. It’s one of the terms of his helping you, but you don’t mind when _another_ of those terms involves you being able to claim a _very_ pleasant reward after each session – provided you’ve paid attention, anyways. (Unlike half the instructors at Shin’o Academy, Shuhei has a way of making learning _so_ very worthwhile.)

For someone who so thoroughly discourages distractions, however, he’s kissing along your jaw even after he breaks the initial kiss. But, of course, you’re all too happy to tilt your head to the side and invite him to continue. A moment like this deserves a little indulgence, honestly. “Final exams start in a week,” he murmurs against your skin. “You’re going to have to spend every minute of it cramming.”

You lift your chin determinedly, a confident smile playing across your lips. “I think I’m more than up to the task.”

When your eyes drift back down to Shuhei, he’s gazing back at you with a look like approval, admiration and pride. It’s one of those looks that makes you want to squirm with absolute delight. You settle for kissing him again instead.

He’s perfect, and you’re still so ecstatic that he went through all the trouble of digging up his old notes for you from _wherever_ he’s had them stashed for the past few decades. Even more elated by the knowledge that _six years_ of his support and assistance with your studies is finally coming to fruition. In a little over a week, you’re going to graduate one of the top students of Shin’o Academy. Partially because of your own hard work and perseverance, but you’re going to owe a _lot_ to Shuhei for all his help.

After that long working your ass off, you deserve to take a little time out to celebrate.

You give Shuhei the most devious smile you can manage and trace your fingers over the little 69 tattooed beneath his eye. It never fails to illicit a small shiver from him. “So, if a good study session earns me some of the best sex of my life, what’s my reward going to be when I actually graduate?” you purr.

His eyes glitter with amusement, and maybe there’s a little devious glint somewhere down in there, too. “You’ll just have to wait to find out, won’t you?” he counters, turning his head so that he can kiss the inside of your wrist.

You bat your eyelashes at him sweetly in that way that you know he can’t resist. “But I’ve earned at least a little preview for my efforts so far, haven’t I, Shuu?”

“Mm . . . Maybe a preview,” he agrees, nipping at your wrist playfully.

 

**Bonus BC Kensei:**

Kensei has a lot of respect for how hardworking his lieutenant is, even if there are a lot of times that he finds himself exasperated with the way Shuhei feels the need to push himself a little _too_ hard. Still, he can appreciate having a second-in-command that he doesn’t constantly need to chastise or reprimand. Shuhei’s capable of being professional and focused, and he’s ideal in a lot of regards that some lieutenants just _aren’t._

Or . . . he _used_ to be, anyways.

He’s said Shuhei’s name, oh . . . three times now? He’s becoming increasingly tempted to reach forward and smack him upside the head to get his attention at this point.

Shuhei’s in another world entirely. Kensei can tell. His eyes are fixed on the other side of the room, like he’s completely forgotten his captain exists. It would’ve been unheard of in the past, but it’s become more and more commonplace these days. And when Kensei ventures to follow his lieutenant’s gaze . . . 

Of course it’s him – the only other person that Shuhei seems to be aware of anymore.

It’s his boyfriend that he’s staring at. He’s one of their newest recruits, fresh from Shin’o Academy. Kensei remembers him. He hadn’t needed to hear Shuhei’s (extremely biased) assurances about how brilliant the boy was to accept him into the Ninth Division. He was one of the top students out of the last graduating batch, took and excelled in some of the most advanced courses, was leagues ahead of his peers in developing a relationship with his Zanpakutou, and had some of the highest grades of his entire class. If he hadn’t already had his heart set on the Ninth (for obvious reasons) Kensei would’ve had to fight every other captain in the Gotei 13 tooth and nail for him.

Now he’s beginning to wonder if it’s still as good a decision as it had been a few weeks ago.

At the moment, you’re leaning over a table with two of Kensei’s editors, conferring with them over several articles at once. You aren’t even an official editor yourself, but you’ve got such a keen eye that a lot of them have started seeking you out for assistance from time to time. You seem to like the work on top of it, and are so absorbed in it now that you don’t even notice the doting gaze that’s been fixated on you for several minutes now.

Or maybe you’re not as unaware as you seem.

For the briefest of moments, you lift your gaze to look across the room. Kensei’s not sure you even notice him watching you. The only person you have eyes for is Shuhei. You give him a small, shy smile before ducking your head and returning your attention to your work.

Shuhei actually sighs in admiration, a half-smile on his lips and puppy love in his eyes.

Kensei pinches the bridge of his nose. Inhales, then exhales. This is the _exact_ reason why inner-division relationships make him so antsy. They’re distractions of the worst kind. Not to mention that it’s damn annoying that he’s going to have to compete with his lieutenant’s _boyfriend_ to hold his attention.

But . . . he’ll let the kid enjoy it a little while longer. He’ll save the lecture for a few more days, anyways. At least Shuhei’s lost the shadows under his eyes and doesn’t look _that_ much like an overworked caffeine addict anymore.

For now, though, he’s reaching forward to give Shuhei the smack he damn well deserves because Kensei is not going to repeat himself for a _fourth_ time.


	13. Comfort 『 Isane Kotetsu • [ G-N ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I wrote this DURING a very bad storm - basically described it in the story. And while storms are not my phobias (God help me when there's spider in the room), I'm not too fond of the electricity going out at 2 AM while I'm alone. But writing Isane fluff made me feel SO much better. She's the cutest.

Summer storms in the Soul Society are terrible. The rain falls so hard that it’s as painful as hail, the thunder makes the earth tremble beneath your feet, and the wind is a nightmarish, eerie wail. In the Fourth Division’s barracks you should take comfort in the knowledge that you are safe, secure, and far from the storm’s reach. For you, however, rationality rarely comes into play during a storm.

Lightning flashes and arcs across the sky, and the ferocious thunder that ensues is so powerful that the barracks shudder and groan. It’s this that awakens you from your sleep. Your eyes snap open and you bolt up into a sitting position, gasping for breath. Then you become attuned to everything – the pounding rain against the rooftop, winds screaming like banshees outside.

You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to steady your breathing. _Just a storm, just a storm._ The mantra helps nothing, though. You _know_ it’s a storm. You fear it _because_ it’s a storm. You want it to be anything else.

Thunder crashes again, the sound reverberating through the ground, the floor, echoing inside your bones. All progress is lost as your heart leaps inside your throat, panic reinforced. Your breath stutters, then starts gaining momentum until you’re hyperventilating.

In seconds, you’ve fallen to pieces. Tears sting the corners of your eyes, your hands fist in the futon. Your body is tense enough to have you trembling, instinct telling you that it’s time to bolt, to find the nearest safe space and hide until the storm’s passed. You can’t, though. You’re frozen in fear, unable to do much but stare into the darkness of the room _– oh, darkness, it makes it all so much worse_ – while tears fall down your cheeks and your throat is torn ragged with each panting breath.

You don’t know what wakes Isane up. You, or the storm. You’re not even sure how long she’s been awake. You had forgotten her up until the moment she reaches out and touches your arm with a drowsy, “[Y/N]?”

You flinch from her touch, staring down at her in confusion. Why’s she here? What does she want? It takes a while for you to remember through the terror that’s overtaken your thoughts. These are her quarters. You’re in her bed.

She stares up at you from her pillow, a crease appearing beneath her brows. She’s gone from confused to concerned in the span of a nanosecond. You want to wipe the tears from your face and brush it off. _Did I wake you? I’m sorry,_ you want to tell her. _Go back to sleep. I’m alright._

You want to tell her that. You want it to be true. You try to force the lie out of your throat anyways. When you move your lips, however, no sound escapes.

Lightning flashes. It’s so bright that, for a moment, it might as well be daytime. After that comes the thunder. Terror jolts through you more fiercely than anything lightning strike and you curl in on yourself with a strangled whimper.

Isane’s arms are around you then. She sits beside you and draws you in close, arms holding you with a strength unexpected of a woman with such a gentle disposition. Your hands fly from the futon to grasp the fabric of her yukata, and you bury your face against her shoulder. When thunder crashes again, one of her hands is rubbing between your shoulderblades, and her voice is in your ear.

She knows how to deal with a phobia. She wakes up from night terrors of her own often enough to understand what needs to be said. There’s no, ‘ _You’re overreacting,’_ or, _‘It’s only a storm._ ’

“I’ve got you, [Y/N],” she murmurs. “We’ll get through this together, I promise. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

It’s a pleasant change in pace from all the things you’ve heard in the past. You know it’s unreasonable. You know that it’s _strange_ to be frightened by a storm. You’ve never been able to control it, though, and Isane might be the first person in the entire Soul Society that’s _understood_ that.

That alone is enough to give you a shred of comfort.

* * *

When the sun rises and the clouds have disappeared, Isane is still awake and holding you. Words could never express your gratitude for this. Shadows are under her eyes and you _know_ you’ve robbed her of several hours of much-needed sleep, but she doesn’t chastise you for it. She lies there patiently, rubbing your back and waiting until you’ve calmed.

“You could have told me that you’re afraid of thunderstorms,” she murmurs, hand cupping your cheek.

“It’s embarrassing,” you tell her, voice hoarse from a night of hyperventilation. “ _‘I’m terrified of storms’_ isn’t something you tell a girl when you’re trying to impress her.”

“Guess night terrors about fishcakes wouldn’t have been my first confession, either,” Isane muses, giving you a small, sympathetic smile.

You manage a smile of your own, weak and weary as it is. “I didn’t mention it because I was scared of being judged. I guess after learning about _your_ fears, though, I should’ve known you wouldn’t have room,” you tease, then give a sullen sigh. “I should’ve mentioned it before you asked me to move in.”

“It’s fine. I understand why you wouldn’t want to, [Y/N]. I’m not mad,” she assures.

She kisses your forehead, your eyelids, and then your cheeks. All of them feather-light and easing you deeper into a state of real comfort. There’s never been a more perfect woman in the world, you’re certain of it. When she touches her lips to yours you do your best to convey your appreciation through that one kiss alone.

“I’m sorry you had to stay up all night,” you mumble against her lips.

“Don’t be. You needed me, and I wanted to be here for you,” she murmurs.

“But the Fourth – ”                                                       

“I’ll send a butterfly, tell them that I’ll be in a few hours later than usual. _You’re_ my priority right now,” she says, tone firm.

You want to protest further, to tell her that she’s done more than enough as it is. When you meet her gaze, however, her eyes are warm with sympathy and soft with concern, but still show her determination to see you tended to. It makes your heart swell with affection for her. You tighten your arms around her and burrow deeper into her embrace, accepting the comfort that’s being offered to you rather than trying to fight it.

“Try to sleep, [Y/N],” Isane urges, her voice soft, gentle, and soothing. “I’ll be right here with you.”

“No promises,” you mumble. “But I’ll try.”

There are times when you’ve been so shaken up after a storm that you can’t bring yourself to relax for hours after. You don’t expect this to be an exception, and yet . . . With Isane, you find yourself feeling secure enough to drift off within minutes. She doesn’t let go even while she sleeps beside you.


	14. Short Struggles 『 Toshiro Hitsugaya • [ G-N ] Reader 』

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normally, I try to avoid mentioning any specific details about the Reader-character, like, at all. That way you’re all able to fill in the blanks however you please. 
> 
> In this instance, though . . . I imagined a character that, like Toshiro, is small and childlike in appearance. ‘Cos it’s relevant.
> 
> Sorry for not posting anything more - or posting anything at all for so long! I've been sidetracked working on an Assassination Classroom project with a few friends, and it'll be that way for a while. I do have a BUNCH of stories I'm hoping to wrap up soon, though, so hopefully I'll have then out before long? We'll see.

“Wait, wait! Toshiro, put me down!” you squeaked, hunching over so that you could wrap your arms around his head tightly. Your legs already had a vice-grip around his neck as it was, but you still felt far from stable. “I’m going to fall!”

Beneath you, Toshiro huffed out in irritation. “I’m not going to drop you, [Y/N],” he insisted, gripping your thighs a little together as if it would do anything to make you believe you were secure on his shoulders. “Would you relax?”

“I can feel you swaying!” you protested.

“Only because _you_ keep swaying!” he argued. “Look, it’s right in front of you – just grab it. Then you can get down.”

Your lifted your gaze with a whine. He was right. Only a few inches above you was the binder that he had needed so badly. Summarized historical records of the Tenth Division. All you had to do was reach out and grab it, but you were reluctant to let go of him. It felt like he was going to topple over at any moment, sending both himself and you crashing down to the floor.

“[Y/N], you’ll be alright,” Toshiro insisted, trying to soothe your fear. “I’m not going to drop you. You know I wouldn’t. Trust me.”

You bit your lower lip. Toshiro had you, you told yourself. He wouldn’t let you fall. All you had to do was reach out, pull the binder down, then he would set you back down and you could forget this had ever happened.

Swallowing nervously, you forced one hand away from Toshiro and started to reach out. Before your fingers could even brush the spine, however, the office door was opened and you heard Rangiku’s voice offering a cheery, “Good morning, Captain~! I’m sorry I’m late, but – ”

She didn’t get the chance to offer her excuse. The sound of the door and her voice and the realization that you and Toshiro had been _caught_ had your cheeks flaring up with hot embarrassment. Oh, if the short jokes had been bad before, they would be a million times worse when the lieutenant told everyone that Toshiro needed you to climb his shoulders to reach the top shelf! The horror of that itself was enough to have you jolting.

You squeaked and you squealed and Toshiro had just enough time to yelp before the shift of your weight knocked him off balance. You shrieked as both you and Toshiro collapsed to the floor in a heap.

Fortunately for you, your boyfriend softened your fall. Not without any expense to himself, judging by his groan.

Rangiku was at your sides in an instant, “Captain! [Y/N]!” she exclaimed. “Are you two alright?! Should I call for the Fourth?”

You sat up, rubbing your head. Your pride hurt more than anything else. “No . . . No, I’m fine,” you mumbled. “Toshiro?”

He responded with something akin to a wheeze. It took you a moment to realize that you were sitting on him and therefore limiting his ability to breathe. Embarrassment mounting, you shifted off of him. He pushed himself up from the floor with a grimace, managing a strained, “I’m fine, Matsumoto.”

His blush was almost as bad as yours. You weren’t the only one mortified at having been caught, it seemed.

“Oh, that’s a relief. What were you two even . . . ” she trailed off as her gaze lifted to the same shelf you had been trying so hard to reach. “Captain, not again. I told you before that if you ever have trouble reaching something up high, I’m always more than happy to help.”

Toshiro shot her an indignant glare, though it wasn’t all that intimidating with his blush.

Rangiku didn’t even notice, rising to her feet and stretching up on her toes so that she could easily pluck the binder from its shelf. She offered it down to the captain with a smile. “Here. Is this the one you wanted, Captain?”

You joined Toshiro in his glaring. _Tall people._

Toshiro took the binder from her, offering a reluctant, “Thanks, Matsumoto,” under his breath.

“Oh, it’s nothing, Captain,” she hummed. “You know what? Why don’t I step outside for a bit, give you both time to, uhm . . . _recompose_ yourselves. Bye, Captain. Bye, [Y/N]~!”

And with that, the lieutenant swept out of the office and into the hall, closing the door behind herself.

She didn’t even have the decency to flash-step far away enough for you and Toshiro to be out of earshot before she began laughing. She must’ve made it halfway down the hall before the sound of gut-busting, howling laughter floated back to the office.

Toshiro dragged a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping and eyes narrowing. “She’s going to tell everyone,” he grumbled.

You hunched over and curled your shoulders in, pouting. “Damn, I hate being short . . . ”

**Author's Note:**

> Ay, always feel free to HMU on Twitter sometime - @SheSmolSupreme, same as on here - to chill with me, check out my fanart (granted, it's mostly genderbends lately and they're all kinda NSFW), or toss me any Bleach stories you'd like me to write, yo. 
> 
> Peace, snowflakes. <3


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